When It Snows in Summer
by JustAboutMidnight
Summary: Sokka's monthly political visits to the Fire Nation result in an unexpected attachment. Azula, wounded more deeply than anyone can see, wants to be angry about it. She almost succeeds.
1. Diplomacy

**Part I - Diplomacy**

* * *

The first time he comes, he's with her brother. She's asleep at last, after tossing and turning for hours, when the low sound of Zuko's voice wakes her. It gets louder as he draws closer, and two sets of footsteps echo through the stone corridor.

"I'm keeping her here until I can come up with something better. She's burned every servant and guard I've put near her."

_Curse him._ Now she's going to be lying awake for who knows how long. She's about to sit up and flambé her idiot brother and whatever moron he's brought with him when the second boy speaks.

"_Something better? _Come on, Zuko, if things were the other way around she'd have killed you a year ago."

That voice… why is it familiar? She opens her eyes silently and stares at the wall of her cell. It's nighttime, and the cold of winter has seeped into the corners of the tower. Not that it matters much, anymore, what time it is. She hasn't seen the sun in ages.

"I know that," he answers, and she hears him sigh. "But I'm not her."

_No, _she thinks spitefully. _You're definitely not. _She can feel fire racing through her veins to her hands, making her palms itch, but for some reason she can't quite name, she keeps it at bay. She waits for a reply.

"No," Sokka agrees. "You're definitely not." But there's no spite in _his _voice. There's a short silence, and then the sound of heavy boots shifting on the floor. "But you're going to have to do something about her sooner or later."

"I know," Zuko says heavily. "I will."

Oh, she would love to throw her covers back and shoot them both full of lightning, but hearing them discuss her fate gives her pause. It makes her stomach flutter in that way that she hates, the way they talk about her like everything is up to them, like she's got no control over what happens. And besides, lately, her lightning hasn't exactly been… well, it hasn't—

Sokka clears his throat. "I know you've already said you're opposed to… well, opposed to the death penalty. But Zuko, think of what she's done… all the people she's hurt without thinking twice about it…"

"I know," her brother answers. There's no feeling in his voice. "But she's still my sister. I can't just have her killed."

She rolls her eyes into the dark, some part of her actually hoping that the stupid Water Tribe peasant will convince him. After all, why not?

"Honestly, that's not a very good reason to keep her alive," Sokka says bluntly, and she realizes she's silently _agreeing _with him. "If she wasn't your sister, the decision would be easy."

"Look, I don't expect you to understand," Zuko says, and she can't believe that he doesn't even sound _annoyed. _If anything, he sounds tired. If anyone dared to speak to _her _like that… well, they'd be a nice crispy snack for a komodo rhino. "You're lucky. Katara's _your _sister. But Agni gave me Azula, and there's nothing I can do about that."

The disappointment in his voice makes her blood boil. _How dare he speak about her like that, like between the two of them, she's the disapointment? _The fire itches worse than ever, and she wonders if she's being stupid by not just letting it out. However much her brother resents her, he can't resent her more than she resents him, _hate _her more than she _hates _him…

_And yet he won't kill you_, whispers something in the back of her mind. _So how can that be true?_

"Fine," Sokka says exasperatedly. "So you're not even going to consider it?"

"I haven't considered it in the past year, and I'm not going to consider it now."

Sokka huffs, and she can almost see him crossing his arms in her mind's eye. "Okay, fine. Fine. That makes perfect sense."

"You should take a leaf out of Aang's book, Sokka," Zuko says, and for the first time she can hear some irritation. "He agrees with me. He understands."

"Oh please," she hears a soft clank of metal against stone; it sounds like he's leaned against the wall. "I don't remember you being such a pacifist when it was your father we were talking about."

Another pang, and a column of heat surges through her middle. She almosts gasps in surprise and pain — her control is getting worse and worse.

"No," Zuko admits. "But Aang was right, in the end. And he agrees with me now. Death isn't the answer."

Sokka snorts. "Don't you see? Aang would _never _say that death is the answer, and we're _never _gonna see eye-to-eye on this stuff. If it had been up to me, we would have left you for dead in that blizzard at the North Pole. I believe in getting what you deserve."

She doesn't mean for it to happen, but a little ripple of approval runs through her. _He was in favor of killing Zuko?_

"How rude," Zuko chuckles, and her annoyance is back full-force. "And look at us now. Aren't you glad he showed me mercy?"

Sokka huffs again. "That's different. Azula's nothing like you."

She hates how much sense this peasant is talking.

"No, she's not," her brother agrees. "But it doesn't matter. I'm not having her killed, Sokka. If my father gets to live, then so does Azula. That's final."

There's another silence.

"Fine," Sokka says finally, and she can hear the effort it's costing him to stop arguing. "Fine. You said yourself that I should take a leaf out of Aang's book. So, why don't you ask him to take away her firebending? More safety, no death. Nobody else getting burned."

Suddenly, she can't breathe. Panic squeezes her chest, hot and fluttering, and she can feel her throat tighten as she stares at the wall. Her entire body itches painfully.

"No," Zuko says quietly, and she sucks in a gasping breath so loudly that she's afraid they'll hear her. "I can't do that, either."

There's a dull _thump. _It seems Sokka's actually stamped his foot in frustration. "Why the hell not?"

"Because," Zuko answers, "that's all she has."

Sokka starts to speak again, but Zuko cuts him off. "If I took away her fire, I might as well just kill her."

Her heart is still pounding, spires of alarm rising and falling inside of her chest.

There's more silence.

"You are so fucking hard-headed," Sokka says finally. "If you might as well just kill her, then just go ahead and kill her."

"I'd like to see you try."

She's sat up at last, and it's satisfying to see them both jump. Her eyes fall on the newcomer, and, just for a second, she takes him in. He's taller than she remembers, an inch or two taller than her brother, and his dark hair is shaggier. He's growing broad, too, filling out his blue tunic more thoroughly at sixteen. His blue eyes are shocking, luminous in his brown face, and they fix on her so coldly that she almost shivers.

Almost.

"Good evening, Azula," Zuko says evenly.

Agni, how she hates the calm in his voice, how she hates the crown in his topknot! That crown that would have been hers, if she had just been… She grits her teeth.

"Good evening, _Zuzu. _Still too weak to kill me?" She pushes herself off of the thin mattress and steps towards the bars. "I've never heard of a Fire Lord being such a _coward_."

"I'm breaking tradition," Zuko answers, and she _hates _that too. A year ago he would have yelled, challenged her, shot some of his sad little orange flames at her. And now… she clenches her fists. She hates that she's losing her power over him, losing herself.

"Obviously." She leans against the door and grasps it lazily, her hands igniting around the bars. The bluebell flames dance through her fingers, the heat of them cutting through the room. "It's a shame."

She's speaking to Zuko, but she fixes her eyes on Sokka. To her consternation, he doesn't back up, or even look away. Instead, he stares back at her, steadfast and bluer than anything she's ever seen. She grips the bars a little tighter, and the flames leap higher.

"Thanks for your input," Zuko says. "I'll be sure to take it into consideration."

_The insolence of him. _But now she's distracted, curious, not understanding why this ridiculous boy won't stop looking at her like that, like he _disdains _her. The metal is getting hot under her hands and she lets go, instead palming the little infernos at her side. _Why _is he looking at her like that? He knows what she can do.

"Come on, Sokka," her brother says, and turns. "Let's go."

She stares at him and he stares back, blue on amber for another breath.

And then he breaks it, pushing up off the wall, and without another word they're both gone.

The prison door slams. She's still and silent, staring after them for one, two, three heartbeats.

And then she lets go and the fire rips out of her with a scream, her frustration pummeling the steel door of the tower, the heat nearly searing her eyebrows off. It's huge and as blue as those dismissive eyes, billowing out from her palms, her mouth, in wave after wave until the roiling in her veins has slowed. She collapses to her knees, the tears trickling down her cheeks as hot as fire, the fire that Zuko refuses to take from her.

It's the first time she's ever been grateful for his weakness.

-o-

The second time he comes, he's reluctant. She's awake this time, but for what? It's not like she's got anything to do. She's sitting on her bed, staring out at the wall across the hall, when the door to the tower creaks open. She assumes it's a guard, bringing the lunch that she probably won't eat anyway, and she doesn't turn her head until he's right in front of her. She hides her surprise and raises an eyebrow.

"Couldn't stay away?"

He gives her that look again, like he'd rather be anywhere but here. He's got a scroll in his hands.

"Yeah, I just love running unpleasant errands for the Fire Lord."

It's hard to gauge time when you're locked up in the dark, but it's been at least two months since she last saw him, she's sure of it. His hair is growing out — his sides are even shaggier than last time, and the new growth looks soft and shiny. He's dressed in full Water Tribe warrior regalia again, but without that ridiculous wolf helmet.

"Of course you do. Missing all the excitement I bring to your life?"

"Obviously," he says. "Now, get up. Let's get this over with."

She bristles. Like she's going to take orders from _him. _"I'll pass."

He ignores her. "This," he says, unrolling the scroll, "is a statement of war crimes. _Your _crimes. I need you to read it, and verbally confirm to me, as a councilman, that you acknowledge what you've done."

"A little late, aren't we?" she laughs. "Diplomacy's not all it's cracked up to be, is it, _councilman?_"

"It's not," he agrees with her, surprising her. "I hate not getting my way when I know that I'm right. So, like I said, let's get this over with."

"Politics," she muses aloud, just to annoy him. She doesn't make the first move to get up. "How long has it been since I zapped my darling brother? A year? A year and a half? And I'm just now being prosecuted? Goodness, people really don't value the life of their Fire Lord the way they used to."

He gives her a funny look that she doesn't like. "A year and two months."

It takes her a second to realize what he's telling her, and when she does, she doesn't say anything. She doesn't like that, the fact that he found the real question buried in her taunt so easily. _How long have I been shut in here? _He heard it without even trying, and, what's worse, he answered it. He didn't have to. He did her a _favor._

He crouches down and, with a flex of his shoulders, pushes the scroll through the bars and across the stone floor. "Here."

It skitters to a stop near her bed, and, without looking, she points two fingers and lights it. She watches his face as the blue flames turn orange, crackling happily along the scroll, curling characters into smoke. The scent of burning paper fills the space between them, acrid and sharp.

"There's your _acknowledgement._"

She expects (hopes?) he'll get angry. Instead, he rolls his eyes, and as she watches, pulls another, identical scroll from his pocket. She shoots another jet of flame, but he's quick — he dodges it. Now she's standing up, striding over to the bars before she's even realized what she's doing, angry because the message is clear, even if he hasn't said it. _You're so predictable. I knew you were going to do that._

He unfurls the scroll with a shake and dodges another jet of fire. "Could you quit that?"

She sneers. "Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?"

He rolls his eyes again, and she clenches her fists. _The nerve of him! _She could light both him and the scroll on fire in a second if she really wanted to, but…

"Here." He shoves the scroll towards her, and her eyes travel down the characters, reading automatically without meaning to. "Just fucking read it so I can get out of here."

"Did you write this?" she lifts an eyebrow. "Impressive. I didn't know savages could write."

"Wow, I've never heard that one before," he retorts. "Did you come up with that all by yourself?"

She glares at him. Does this peasant have _no _fear of getting charbroiled? But, she notices, they're kind of close to each other, standing like this. She's as close to the bars as she can get without pressing right up against them, and he's glaring at her just feet away, near enough that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted to. So close to her cell, like he didn't even think about precautions, like he's not even worried! No one else dares to get this near to her, and she can see the blue of his eyes burning out of his face, the crease between his dark eyebrows.

She doesn't approve of this at all, though — this idea that she's not dangerous. So she twirls her hand beside her, pulls a fiery rope out of nowhere, and winds it through the air absentmindedly.

"You've forgotten the time I attacked a former general."

He checks the list, and adds some characters in an infuriatingly matter-of-fact way. "So I have."

"And lied to the Fire Lord about who killed the Avatar."

"I don't count lying to evil psychopaths as a war crime."

That painful heat rolls through her middle again, and she hates the uncertainty that grips her, even if it's just for a moment. Her flaming rope goes out, but she smirks. "I imagine Zuko would beg to differ."

"Fair enough," he shrugs. "Everything else look heinously correct?"

She eyes him carefully. Why does he need this confession from her, really? Is it possible that he finally convinced Zuko, and this is the last step? Personal admission from the source?

"Spot-on."

"Great." He rolls up the scroll and shoves it into his pocket. "Pleasure doing business with you."

He turns, walks away, and some strange emotion seizes her. Almost like… no, it would be ridiculous, but almost like she… doesn't want him to go. Not because she likes him — he's unbearable, just like the rest of them — but because when he's gone, she'll be alone again. Alone, and _bored_.

So she points, and another stream of fire shoots towards him. It's not big but it's hot, and it's enough to instantly catch the hem of his tunic. As she watches, he yanks open the door with one hand and bats out the flames with the other. He doesn't even turn around. For just one brief, shining moment, she can see _sunlight_, glowing around his boot, glancing off his armor as he steps outside. He's smoking slightly.

And then he's gone. She stares at the scorch marks on the floor for a long time after that.

-o-

The third time he comes, it's raining outside. She knows because she can hear it pounding on the roof of the prison tower. She hates the rain, but she'd still rather be outside than locked in here. She's lying on her bed, flat on her back, bouncing a ball of blue fire off of the ceiling. Gods, she's never been so _bored _in her entire life.

So, when he walks in, she actually sits up to see who it is — she's dying for some amusement. She's surprised to see him. He's dressed the same as last time, in a warrior's uniform, the fur trim wet and dripping from walking through the rain outside. How stupid, to wear fur in the Fire Nation. It's too warm for that, even in winter.

This time, she doesn't say anything, just bounces her fire off the stone floor, sitting cross-legged on her covers. He comes right up to the bars of the cell again, like it's no big deal, like it's the most casual thing in the world.

"Hey."

_Hey? _She narrows her eyes. What is that supposed to mean?

He shrugs when he's met with silence. The sides of his hair are growing out fully now — it's beginning to lay flat, framing his face, and his ponytail has been freshly trimmed. He looks better-rested. She contemplates the little fireball she's still bouncing. She could augment it in a second and send it at him, catch his clothes, and get him out of the tower. He does nothing but irritate her when he comes, and—

"I have some things for you." To her horror, he actually _sits down _in front of the bars — so close that his knees are almost touching them — and settles into a cross-legged position. "Zuko tells me it's your birthday."

She looks at him like he's speaking Egyptian, the ball of fire hovering just above her palm. She's trying to come up with a snarky answer but he's catching her so off guard each time he opens his mouth that he's making it difficult.

"How old are you, again?"

He stares at her, waiting for a reply, like he _expects_ her to reply, and before she's quite realized what she's doing, she answers.

"I'm sixteen today, apparently."

She'd had no idea it was her birthday. It's not like she's got any way to know what the date is.

"Sixteen, huh?" He pulls his boomerang off of his back and starts sharpening it, like he's not even thinking about what he's doing. The rasp echoes through the hallway. "You're only a year younger than me."

She frowns. "I guess age and wisdom don't always correlate."

He cracks a smile. _What is this guy's fucking problem? _"I mean, obviously, seeing as Zuko's older than both of us."

She frowns deeper. He clears his throat.

"So, look, I've got some stuff for you here." He sets down the boomerang and stone and picks up the knapsack he's dropped, rifling through it for a moment. "This is from Zuko."

He pulls a small framed canvas out of the bag and she recoils on the bed. It's her mother's face painted onto it, young and beautiful, the way she— the way _they_— remember her. She smiles softly in red ochre and yellow paint, curved lines and loveliness, a Venus with terrible sadness behind her eyes.

"He commissioned this about two months ago," Sokka says, oblivious to her reaction, busy admiring the painting himself. "She was quite a beauty. I can see where you get it from." The canvas is small enough to be slipped between the bars, which he does.

She stares at it. Her palms itch. She should set it on fire, rid herself of that face. She knows that she should.

"And then," he says, reaching into the bag again, "there's something from me."

This is distracting enough that, for a moment, she takes her eyes off of Ursa.

"It's not much, but I think it'll be good to have in here." And between the bars, he places a fat bundle of dried sage. "I thought you should have some."

And then he looks at her, like he's expecting something. Sits back on his hands, shoulders slouched and relaxed, and fixes those eyes on her. They're so shockingly bright in his dark face that she feels as if she's being examined from every pinpoint, read the way you would read a map. There's a clap of thunder overhead, and a fresh wave of rain pounds onto the roof. Her stomach growls painfully.

"Who said I wanted anything from you? Or from Zuko, for that matter?"

He just shrugs and picks up the boomerang again. Its scrape sounds through the corridor. He's still watching her. She hates the way his gaze is making her feel, like he can see every inch and angle of her, like he can see right _through_ her. She can smell the sage, sharp and fragrant, and in a second it brings back enough memories to make her angry. She flexes her wrist and the fire grows, swirling to the size of a watermelon. The heat radiates outwards from above her hand, making the side of her face itch.

"I've been nice until now," she says coldy, staring daggers back at him. Their gazes seem to meet, snapping and crackling in the air. "But you had better get out of here, peasant, if you know what's good for you."

He appraises her for a moment, the stone moving one, two, three more times along the edge of the boomerang. And then he stands, in no hurry, and slings it onto his back. He drops the stone into his knapsack, and stretches before straightening his tunic. She realizes that she's waiting for a response, waiting for the bite of attitude she's come to expect from him. Instead, he gives her and her fire one last glance, and, without a word, strides to the door and out into the rain.

He doesn't slam the door. It clicks shut behind him.

She hurls the fire through the bars and across the hall with one heaving breath. It hits the stone with a _BOOM! _and her cell vibrates, a wave of heat blasting back at her. She realizes that her heartbeat is pounding far harder than is justified. She breathes fast, dropping her chin and clenching her fists, hoping that he heard the explosion from the path back to the palace. He should know that the smoking starburst on the wall could just as easily have been on his stupid face.

She stares at the gifts he's left. Her mother's face taunts her upside-down, her red lips frowning from this angle. The eyes are disconcerting, too. Almost like they can see her, like they can follow her with that wistful, disappointed expression. Ursa's face is marred by sad eyes, like she'd always _known_ her daughter would fail, like she could see it all along…

"Leave me alone," she demands. "I'm not afraid of you!"

The portrait doesn't answer, thankfully, but she lights it anyway with a stream of blue fire. She can't fight the hot, twisting pain in her gut as she watches the neckline of her mother's robe beginning to curl into nothing. It shrivels, crisps up and blackens, and she swears she's being ripped clean in two. The fire _h__urts _and she can't fathom why, because it never used to hurt before. She can feel that fluttering in her stomach, that hot sensation of panic, and she leaps off of her bed, stamping on the bottom of the portrait. The frame cracks, the flames die. Her mind is racing, threatening to drown itself in a deep river of doubts and memories. This is when she craves lightning the most, craves that deep sense of calm and purpose. No thoughts at all. No weakness.

She stops, her mother's half-burned portrait still smoldering underfoot. She closes her eyes. Lifts two fingers on each hand, and—

_KA-BOOOOOM!_

It explodes in her face, throwing her backwards, and she cries out in rage and frustration. A new burn smokes darkly on the floor of her cell. There's dust raining from the ceiling now, drifting down onto her, and she knows it's only a matter of time before one of the guards standing outside reports her to Zuko again. But her whole body is itching, and containing the fire is proving harder than it's ever been before.

She's still on the bed for just a moment, breathing hard, and the sound of the rain comes back to her. The sound of _water_, pounding on the roof and trickling down the sides, cold and cleansing. She's heaving, hot, but for some reason she can't explain, the sound of the water calms her. She can imagine it, almost feel it, running down her flushed skin in cool trickles, dripping onto the burn deep inside her chest and quenching it.

She breathes deeply, and some of the pain subsides. Her uncle's voice comes back to her unwillingly.

_"Now Azula, not like that. Yes, you completed the form, but in firebending, your power must start with your breath. Your technique should include beauty, too, my niece — not just heat and power."_

Her father had scolded his brother, she remembers, told him off for trying to influence the royal children's training. That had, of course, been the correct reaction, and exactly what she would have done… and yet, lying here and listening to the rain, for once, she obeys Iroh's voice. She breathes. The pain cutting through her abdomen subsides, dulls. She keeps breathing until it's gone.

There's guilt writhing in the pit of her stomach as she sits up. She deserves the pain, if it's there, and she listened to Uncle just to escape it… it's weakness, she knows it.

She spots the sage. It's still lying where Sokka left it, untouched next to the cracked and smoking remains of her mother's portrait. Its smell is as sharp as ever, mixing with the heavy scent of rain. For the first time, she really considers it. She'd like to burn that too, so the next time he comes he can see what she thinks of his gift.

But to burn sage...

She clutches her blanket in her fists. He knew that she would burn the portrait, she realizes, because _his_ gift to her is something she _can't_ burn. To burn it would be to use it.

She stares at the sage and tries to feel angry.

Instead, she turns over and stretches out. She won't burn it, then. It can sit there unused, can sit there and stink until he comes back the next time, until…

"_She was quite a beauty. I can see where you get it from."_

She doesn't want Sokka to echo in her head like this. She stares at the ceiling. He was mocking her, the same way he's mocking her with the sage, knowing she'll want to burn whatever he gives her… She can almost hear his obnoxious voice. What would he say?

"_Always burning everything, aren't you? Well, here — finally something you can do right."_

She hates to admit it, but her cell and the hall really do smell now, reeking of burned paper and charred stone. Her failed attempt at shooting lightning is still smoldering sadly on the ground. She probably has soot on her face from the resulting explosion, not to mention the fresh burns on her pride. She wonders what she's becoming.

She tries to go to sleep. She really does. But no matter how she turns, the smell of smoke stings her nostrils, and the din of the rain won't let her rest. Her mind spins fruitlessly over itself until she can't quite grasp onto any one thing, and it's only then that his voice echoes through her head again, as clear as day, in a very different tone this time.

"_Here. You don't need matches. Use your fire. Do something good with it."_

So which did he mean?

"Listen to you," she mutters to herself. "Why are you even thinking about him?"

Something good.

In the end, she lights the sage. Only for a minute, to mask some of the bad burning smell. She falls asleep to the sound of the rain.

-o-

He comes again sooner than he ever has before; she estimates that another month has passed. She's sitting on her bed and drawing characters on the sooty wall when she hears the door open and heavy boots come inside. She's horrified to realize that she's beginning to recognize the sound of his walk, and then he's in front of her cell before she can address it further.

"Princess," he bows his head ever so slightly, and she stares at him. His hair is… down. Out of the ponytail. And it looks… good.

It's not just his hair, either. He's out of his strange Water Tribe armor and wearing a blue tunic, which fits around his shoulders and waist in a way that makes her skin tingle just from looking at him. Not a good tingle. It's still strange and barbaric and blue is a bad color.

He gives her a funny look, and pushes his hand through his hair in a self-conscious kind of way. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

His bangs flop back into his eyes, and she decides that this whole hair thing is kind of distracting. It's the color of bittersweet chocolate, which she loves, and it's just the right length to grab…

She turns up her nose. "I'm not."

"Are too," he argues, and crosses his arms. "What, did Zuko singe my eyebrows again?"

She blinks. "Um, no."

"Yeah, right," he mutters, smoothing the feared-for hairs. "No respect at all. I fall asleep in _one_ meeting _one_ time… Boom. No eyebrows for a month." He eyes her suspiciously. "Something he learned from you, maybe?"

Talking to Sokka is like being on the training field. He keeps shooting off fireballs for her to dodge, and it's impacting her offense.

"Please," she snorts. "_I_ didn't shave his head. He can mess up his hair just fine without my help."

"I guess that's true," Sokka muses. "But still…"

He looks as if he's actually considering the validity of this, and she realizes that he's gotten her talking to him again. She scowls.

"Why are you here? What do you want?"

"To wish you a happy winter solstice, of course," he says, and pulls out that damn boomerang again. He's not sitting down this time, just leaning against the wall. "I hope you're square with the spirits. You never know what might happen on this day."

Her jaw clenches. "How dare you— "

"Wish you peace and balance?" He bows to her, Fire Nation-style with the boomerang in his fist, and she stares at him. "I don't know. I've always had a bit of an impertinent streak."

"Too right," she snaps.

He winks at her, and her next words die in her throat. "My apologies, princess. I didn't mean to offend you. I only wanted to make you aware of the date."

He keeps on sharpening that damn boomerang. _Rssssp, rssssp, rssssp._ His dark hair falls to his throat, and she glances at the work he's doing. The skin of his forearms is smooth and deeply tanned, veins rising below the surface as he works. His muscles bunch and flex with every new pass of the stone.

She needs to concentrate. "Today's the same as any day."

"Is it?"He raises an eyebrow, squints at his handiwork. "Don't believe in the spirits, huh?"

She doesn't say anything.

"Well, I didn't, before the war," he tells her conversationally. "When I met Aang, I thought it was all just a bunch of mumbo-jumbo. But then… two winters ago we were in the Senlin Village, and something happened that changed my mind."

She rolls her eyes. She is _not_ going to ask and encourage him.

It turns out he's not going to wait for her. "See, there was this angry spirit attacking the town. And there was all this pressure on Aang to be the 'great bridge' between our world and theirs, right? Well, things went wrong, and I ended up trapped in the spirit world for an entire day."

She doesn't want it to happen, but a shiver runs down her spine. She risks glancing at him for half a second. Thankfully he's not looking at her, his jewel-bright eyes fixed instead on the boomerang in his hand.

"Of course _you_ wouldn't believe in the Spirit World," she sniffs. "_You're_ not a bender. Lecturing me when you haven't meditated a day in your life."

"I mean," he shrugs, "that's fair. But it's a trip that really makes you think, once you get out. It's hard to describe what it was like. But I can tell you one thing — the human heart is a scary place, Azula."

She winces as though he's slapped her. It's strange to hear her name in his mouth, and she doesn't like it.

"That's _Princess_ Azula to you, savage."

"Oh, of course," he drops the boomerang to his side and makes a great show of groveling. "I forgot I was in court. My _deepest_ apologies, to the _fairest_ of fire lilies."

Her heart does a weird little jump just before she sends a ball of fire at his face. "You've got some nerve, peasant!"

He dodges it, of course, dodges it like he was expecting it. "I've been upgraded from savage to peasant?" He strokes his chin. "Great progress in only two sentences."

"_Argh!_" she stamps her foot, and sparks explode against the cell walls like shrapnel.

"Of course, I wouldn't expect you to understand," he continues, resuming his sharpening as if nothing had interrupted their conversation. "You probably haven't thought much about the state of your soul."

She scowls. Her slipper is smoking. "So now not only are you going to impose your company on me, you're going to start telling me what I think?"

He looks at her, maybe a little surprised. "I'm not telling you what you think. I'm just making an educated guess."

"Well, aren't you just brilliant." It's her turn to cross her arms. He frowns at her through the bars.

"So I'm told."

They stare at each other for a second. Time turns to jelly.

"Well," he says finally, "I'd better be going. I wish you a safe winter solstice." He pushes up off the wall, his slender hip jutting out for a moment. "_Princess_ Azula." He falls to one knee, his palm on his chest. "Your servant."

He rises to his feet, bangs swinging, and smirks at her just enough for her to know that he's bullshitting. And then he's gone, the fresh wave of fire slamming against the closed door just a second too late; she waited too long to decide again. She turns, breathing heavily, and only then do her eyes fall on the bundle of sage in the wall bracket. She curses. She'd meant to hide it, stuff it away under her mattress so he wouldn't know that she's been burning it. She stares at it, hanging on the wall, charred to half its original size. She wonders for a second if he just didn't notice it, but dismisses this — he's too observant for that, and it's in too obvious a spot. And yet… he didn't tease her, didn't try to humiliate her for scorning it and then using it. He didn't even say anything.

As obnoxious and impertinent as his visits are, he's given her something to think about. His voice echoes through her head.

"_To wish you a happy winter solstice, of course."_

It makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and she rubs at them impatiently. Fear has no place with her. She knows that Uncle has been to the Spirit World; everyone whispers about it, and she believes the old man's kooky enough to have tried it. But she's never asked him about it. She's learned not to trust Iroh's advice — and she doesn't need advice.

And Sokka… Sokka, who spent a day in the Spirit World. She bites her lip, still staring at the closed tower door. She doesn't understand how he can talk about it so easily; she's pretty sure that if she'd gotten stuck in the Spirit World, she wouldn't have found her way back out.

"_You probably haven't thought much about the state of your soul."_

And, okay, maybe that was true up until only recently, but she feels like the last year has been enough to prove him wrong. And anyway, why should she care what he thinks? Why should she care whether he believes she has a heart or not?

"_The human heart is a scary place, Azula."_

Like she needs him to tell her that. And for the first time, she stops thinking about herself, and she wonders about _his_ heart. What does Sokka have to be afraid of? What did he see when he was in the Spirit World?

That night, she burns some of her sage. She knows that it's superstitious and ridiculous, but if there's a chance it might ward off any spirits she doesn't want to see, she's willing to try it. Her thoughts fall to Sokka again. She walks around the cell with the incense, spreading the fragrant smoke and thinking that maybe he's given her some protection against the night. Then she gets angry at herself for thinking about him. She hates that stupid smirk of his, and she hates the constant boomerang-sharpening, and she hates how he keeps coming to bother her. Whatever happened to him wanting her dead?

Night comes on, and, as usual, she finds herself unable to sleep. The fragrance of the sage is still drifting around the room but it's cold now, and she can almost picture tendrils of fog creeping in to grab at her. She curls onto her side and brings fire to her hand, and it's only then that she looks at where she was mindlessly writing in the soot earlier, at the character that he must have been able to read on the wall.

_Daughter._

She falls into a peculiar half-sleep an hour later. Her dreams are strange and hazy, and too vivid for her liking. The first one is a memory — the oldest memory she has.

"_Zuzu!"_

_She's four and he's six, and they're tumbling around in the royal gardens. The sun is bright; it's midsummer, and it's so hot that all of the adults have gone inside except for the guards. Fire lilies in full bloom spill from the flowerbeds and planted rooftops._

"_Hey, be careful, Azula!" Her brother catches her around the middle, keeping her from cracking her head against the fountain. "You'll hurt yourself."_

"_I won't," she giggles, struggling out of Zuko's protective grip. "Lemme go. I'm fine."_

_He rolls his eyes but releases her, flopping down by the base of the fountain, gesturing for her to join him. "C'mon, let's rest. It's hot."_

_She sits. "I want some sorbet."_

"_Sorbet, huh?" He tugs at his stubby ponytail. "I can ask mom."_

"_Mom'll say no," she pouts._

"_Well, it's not like Dad's gonna say yes," Zuko grimaces. The sun sparkles on the garden pond, reflecting like a thousand tiny mirrors in the noonday sun._

"_Ask Chef," she suggests. She sees his golden eyes narrow mischievously. Zuko's eyes are just like their father's. Actually, Zuko looks just like their father in general. Everyone says so. _

"_Good idea."_

_They lay there for a minute longer, two small children sweltering in the heat and considering the magnitude of the heist they've just agreed to pull off. _

"_Zuko," Azula whispers, "It's too hot. Let's go in."_

"_Okay."_

"_Can you show me one more time before we go?"_

"'_Zula!" He looks at her, half-annoyed, half-pleased. "I've already shown you twice today."_

"_Please," she wheedles, rolling onto her stomach and gazing at her brother. "I wanna see it again! All I can do is sparks."_

"_That's still really advanced for your age. I couldn't do that," he grumps. "I bet you're going to be firebending by autumn."_

"_Zuko, show me, show me! Please?"_

"_Well… okay," he relents, as she knew he would. "C'mere." _

_She scoots closer, blocking him from the guards' view. He closes his eyes, clenches his fist, and with a deep breath, slowly uncurls his small fingers. There, dancing just above his palm, is a flame. It's tiny at first, but as she watches it grows higher and higher until it's half a foot tall. She's completely entranced._

"_Dad says it's because it's July," Zuko whispers, his eyes fixed on his fire. "He says I couldn't do it if it was winter. But I think I'm getting stronger. I can feel it."_

"_Like Lu Ten," she says. She can't stop looking at the fire, at how beautiful it is. She can't wait to make her own someday. _

"_What? No!" Zuko blushes. "I'm nowhere near that good."_

_A hot breeze blows through the garden, sweeping through the lilies and the treetops, blowing out the fire in her brother's hand. She's disappointed but he's undeterred, standing up and brushing himself off._

"_But I'll be like Lu Ten someday. I'll be like Dad." She can hear the hope in his voice as he stretches out a hand, pulls her to her feet. "And so will you. C'mon, let's go find Chef."_

The dream changes.

_It's raining — no, not raining. The rain is frozen. It's snowing. She's never seen snow before. It's snowing and cold and dark, and she's alone. She shivers. It's _very _cold. Her own heartbeat is loud in her ears, and she listens to it just long enough to start to feel afraid._

_But then she starts to notice strange ripples of color across the ground around her, almost like the earth is moving. The snow is white fire; It's strange how bright it is, even in the dark. She looks up._

_The breath goes out of her lungs. The sky is infinite, a cold, clear bowl above her, and colors are waving across it. Green, then pink, then changing to blue as she watches. The night is absolutely silent and still, the snow still falling noiselessly around her as she stares upward. _

_The _aurora australis— _the southern lights._ _She's seen them before, only once, in a painting at school. It reminds her of a massive green dragon, waving its great head and breathing cold fire. She stands still, and stares and stares until her feet start to go numb. The silence is so stretching, so great. She begins to wonder if it might just go on forever; maybe no one speaks and nothing moves in this world except for snow. The lights glow and ripple and change, and a strange sensation overtakes her. She feels _small. _She thinks of all the times she's been proud of her own fire. She thinks about her father's praise when she filled the air, searing the trees above the training field. _This _fire, strange and beautiful, stretches out across all of heaven._

"_Azula!"_

_Her chins snaps down. Did someone call to her, out there in the night? She squints into the dark and the thickly-falling snow, raising her hand for a torch. But when she tries to light it, nothing happens. She can't firebend._

_She should feel panicked, but for some reason the feeling won't come. Instead, this seems to make sense. She focuses on the voice, the sound of it, calling for her through the blackness. A man's voice._

_She begins to move towards it. She isn't afraid; there's a warmth in her middle that intensifies as she walks. This heat doesn't hurt. It burns reassuringly, comfortingly inside of her as she trudges through the snow. She's going to find the owner of that voice, and when she does, she's never going to be cold again._

_Above her, the _aurora australis _fades. The sky lightens, and the snow melts. She walks through the mist towards the sunrise._


	2. The Draw

**Part 2 - The Draw**

* * *

The next time he comes, she's annoyed already. When the explosions started going off outside she'd leapt off her bed, hands up and ready to fight, but then she'd realized— _fireworks. _People celebrating.

It's New Year's Eve.

It is, without a doubt, the most depressing New Year's Eve she's ever had, and that's saying something. Alone, in a cold damp cell, while her people celebrate in the streets. She wonders what her brother is doing. No doubt the Fire Lord is at the center of the festivities, welcome anywhere, maybe even throwing a party of his own. A party for traitors and cowards.

She snarls and turns over hard to face the wall. Sleep won't come, the same way that it _never_ comes, even when she doesn't have fireworks ringing in her ears. She tries to imagine the display, the glittering explosions of red and gold over Caldera City. She used to _love_ fireworks when she was little, would _beg_ her father to shoot them from his fingers. Then she realizes what she's thinking about and buries her head in the pillow. Her stomach throbs dully.

_WHOOSH!_

The door to the tower bangs against the wall, and she lays still at once. Who would be here on _New Year's Eve?_

"Azula!"

And she says nothing, because there are footsteps and she knows that walk, the same way she knows that voice, and for some reason, it sounds just like…

"Azula."

He's in front of her cell now. There's something different about the way he's speaking, but she can't put her finger on it; it's looser somehow, a little louder than usual. But it doesn't matter anyway, because she is _not_ going to give him the satisfaction of rolling over and talking to him. _Especially_ not when he's saying her name like that.

"Princess…"

His voice drops to a low, rough whisper, and she feels her eyes go wide. It's all she can do not to stiffen her shoulders. She hears a soft _clink, _and she knows that he's actually leaned right up against the bars. She can almost see him, with that cocky smirk and lazy posture. His voice is so close.

"Princess, I know you're not asleep…"

His voice is almost a growl, throaty and deep. It sends something through her body, hardening her nipples under her shirt and jolting between her legs. And, like a woman possessed, she turns over.

He smiles, leaning back. "Hello there, fire lily."

He's reverted to his normal voice, she notices. Then she gets angry at herself for noticing.

"What do you want?" She tries to spit it, but she's afraid it comes out sounding more curious than vicious. He raises an eyebrow.

"To wish you a happy New Year, obviously."

She narrows her eyes and props herself up on an elbow. "First you want to wish me a safe winter solstice, and now you want to wish me a happy New Year? Seems to me like you're starting to look for reasons to come here."

He leans forward again, his arms threading through the bars to rest on them, and she waits for his denial. But then he smiles, that stupid smile that says he's Agni's gift to the world.

"Maybe I am," he concedes. "But you're not looking for any reasons to stop talking to me."

They stare at each other again, the way they did on the solstice. His eyes are so bright, even across the ten feet between them. She thinks of the blue in the southern lights.

"Have a drink with me?"

He flops down to the floor, cross-legged, and she notices the bottle of saké in his hand. _So he's drunk._ Disappointment floods through her, and she bites the inside of her cheek in frustration. _Get ahold of yourself! Your enemy is right in front of you. Use your brain!_

A different part of her mind is racing, nervous, because she's never actually had alcohol before, but she doesn't want him to know that. She doesn't want him to know that he's done _anything_ she hasn't. She settles for glaring at him.

"Come on, Azula." He drops his voice again, but this time he's staring straight into her eyes. "Just one drink, please?"

A tremble travels through her, and she can only hope that he doesn't see it. She tries to consider strategy, weigh her options, but the scales in her brain seem to be broken; her body's acting for her. So she pushes herself up slowly, letting the rough blanket fall off of her shoulders.

"I told you to stop calling me that."

She's wearing prison-order rags for pajamas, and she can feel the cold air through them — she knows that her nipples are showing, pushing hard against her shirt. When she steps out of bed she has to wonder if it's just her imagination, the way his eyes seem to follow her movements. It has to be.

She's cautious. He's sitting right up against the cell, his knees nearly touching the bars, the bottle of saké between his legs. He waits, his eyes never leaving her as she takes a step forward and pauses.

"Don't worry," he says, and leans back on his hands. "I'm not going to bite you."

The words are reassuring but his tone is anything but; she can't help but think that he _sounds_ as though he'd very much like to bite her, and maybe more than that. The thought shocks her, but even as she dismisses it, she can feel her body waking up under his gaze. The predatory look in his eyes isn't helping.

This whole thing has gone off the rails already and her heart is pounding, but she's gotten out of bed now. So she walks slowly to the bars, her bare feet cold on the stone floor, and firmly reminds herself that she could absolutely pulverize him if she wanted to. There are still fireworks going off outside, but they seem far away now, distant in her ears.

When she sits down in front of him he smiles, like this is all incredibly normal.

"Here."

He reaches through the bars and sets the bottle in front of her. She looks at him a second longer before picking it up and unscrewing the cap. She sniffs it doubtfully; it's not encouraging.

"Go on," Sokka encourages, closing his eyes. "Take a sip. It's not too bad."

She does — it is. She swallows hard, a little gasp wrung from her burning throat, and his eyes snap back open. They fix her in their beam and darken.

"You okay?"

"Yes," she snaps. And, just to prove a point, she takes another swig, ignoring her searing tongue and daring him to make fun of her.

He doesn't. He just watches her, and she can't read the expression on his face — which is seriously alarming, considering how easy reading people has always been for her. She's beginning to worry that she's losing her touch for good.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she demands.

He grins at her then, and reaches through the bars to pluck the bottle right out of her hand. Their fingers almost touch.

"Like what?"

"Like —like _that,_" she crosses her arms. "Like you were just now."

He takes a sip and she finds her eyes on his lips, where he's tasting the place her mouth just left. "I don't know what you mean."

"_Agni_, you're impossible," she scowls. "Why aren't you out gallivanting with my darling brother, anyway?"

He takes another drink and offers her the bottle again before he answers. "Sometimes I get tired of playing diplomat."

She takes it with a roll of her eyes, but she's very careful to keep their fingers far apart. "I told you that you couldn't handle it, councilman."

"I already knew that it was going to be hard, I didn't need you to tell me," he gripes. "I'm the son of a chief. I grew up knowing that politics suck."

"The son of a chief?" she laughs. "That's not politics. You say it like you're _royalty_ or something."

"Oh, what would you know?" he says in disgust. "It's got nothing to do with being royalty. But you've probably never bothered to learn about the Water Tribes, have you?"

She snorts. "There's not much to learn. Fire melts snow, and iron battleships are more effective than canoes."

"And yet you're in there," he snarks. "And I'm out here. So you must have missed something, huh?"

She can't immediately think of a response to this logic, so she takes another drink. She wonders if it's her imagination, the way she can taste him on the mouth of the bottle. "I may be in here, but you're the one that decided to come be in here with me."

"Hmm, yeah," he agrees. "I must be seriously hating my job right now to prefer you over Zuko." She shoots him another poisonous glare and he laughs outright again. "Don't look at me like that, fire lily."

"Stop calling me that!"

"Then don't look at me like that, _Azula._"

She clenches her fists. Oh man, is he asking to get vaporized. "Like what?"

"Like you want to rip me limb-from-limb."

"I _do_ want to rip you limb-from-limb!"

"No, you don't," he grins. "'Cause if you really wanted to, you would've done it by now."

She's forced into silence again by this admittedly solid argument, and he takes the opportunity to grab the saké back. She's feeling the effects of alcohol for the first time: her body is warm, her throat burns, and her stomach's unsettled. She's sure her cheeks must be flushed, because they're hot on her face, and her whole body thrums under her cotton pajamas.

"Man, listen to those fireworks," he says, setting the bottle aside. "Are you gonna be able to sleep tonight?"

"I can never sleep," she says without thinking. "Tonight's no different."

He frowns, leaning forward a little bit. "You can _never_ sleep?"

She hates the way he looks right now, all engaged and concerned for her. It's fake and they both know it, so why doesn't she just send him on his way?

"No," she answers, and now she feels like her mouth is moving before her brain gives it permission. "I lay awake and stare at the ceiling. And when I _do_ sleep, I have… bad dreams."

She waits for him to smirk at her, to laugh at this bit of ammunition. Princess Azula, admitting that she's afraid of bad dreams_. _But he doesn't. Instead, he just keeps frowning and pulls his ever-present boomerang off his back, fiddling with it and running his thumb down the side.

"Yeah. I get bad dreams, too. So does Zuko. But I think he's been having them for a lot longer than me."

She expects to feel the normal surge of superiority, the familiar sense of contempt that's reserved for her brother's suffering. It doesn't come. Instead, there's a frightening hollowness, tinged with something even more terrifying that might be sympathy. No, no, _no, no, no_. She will _not_ feel bad for him. She doesn't feel bad for anyone, and especially not for Zuko. Unlike her, all of his damage has been completely self-inflicted.

She reaches through the bars and grabs the bottle again. "What do you dream about?"

He eyes her suspiciously, and she can't blame him. It feels strange to ask him anything at all, let alone something so personal. She wonders for a second if he's going to get up and leave — and good riddance, if he does — but then he just sighs and scratches his back with his boomerang.

"It depends. Sometimes the day of the eclipse, or the day that Ba Sing Se fell. Sometimes Sozin's comet. And sometimes I see Yue, or my, um… my mother."

She's definitely feeling the saké now, and somewhere in the back of her fuzzy brain there are alarm bells ringing. _You're incapacitating yourself. Be careful._ It's strange to think that she was there, right there, for so many of the failures that haunt him. Gods, she was the _cause_ of several of them. He was never hard to beat — not on his own, at least. She wonders if he ever has nightmares about _her_. Then she pushes the thought away.

"Who's Yue?"

His face closes up, and she knows that this is a touchy subject. "An old friend of mine from the Northern Water Tribe. She died in the war."

She doesn't quite know what to say. She's not going to say that she's sorry, because she's not sorry for him. That's the nature of war, that's the price paid for civilization.

"Just a friend, huh?"

He glances at her sharply. "A girlfriend, actually, as if it was any of your business."

Interesting. This is obviously a wound that still stings. She knows she should pounce on the weakness, but the look on his face stops her: fierce distrust, and the saddest eyes imaginable. She settles for asking her next question.

"And your mother?"

He picks at the edge of the boomerang. "Kya, wife of Hakoda. Killed in a Fire Nation raid eight years ago."

Again, she doesn't quite know what to say, so she just stares at him. His dark skin glows in the torchlight, like oil on water. There's another faint _BANG!_ from outside, and a cheer goes up from the crowd.

"What do _you_ dream about?"

If she's uncomfortable learning about him, it pales in comparison to how she feels about being asked to reciprocate. If she wasn't well on her way to being drunk she'd probably blast his head right off his shoulders for being so impertinent, but…

"Sozin's comet. The Boiling Rock. My… parents."

He nods. "Do you miss your father?"

It's an unexpected question, and it catches her off guard. He looks so genuine, sitting right in front of her and looking at her with those bright blue eyes, like he's actually curious.

"I don't know." She's answering before she's even realized what she's doing. "I don't know if I miss him or not. Mostly, I… I think about how ashamed he must be of me."

His eyebrows quirk. "Do you think so?"

"I know he is. I _failed _him." She doesn't want to hold his eyes like this, so she turns her gaze to his hands. She feels her voice fall to a whisper. "Sometimes, I… I think that I don't even know myself, anymore."

Maybe she's drunker than she thought.

"Okay, so you failed him," Sokka murmurs. His hands are beautiful, large and strong with clever fingers. "I failed my dad on the day of the eclipse. It's done. All you can do now is hope for forgiveness."

"You don't understand," she has to use all of her self-control not to bury her face in her hands. "It's not like that. Forgiveness… that doesn't exist."

"No?"

"Not for me," she snaps. "Not for my father. Forgiveness is for fools. He's no fool, and neither am I."

"Are you sure about that?" he asks quietly. "Aang is the most powerful person alive, and he forgives more than anyone."

Her head feels heavy, and it's hard to fully appreciate how annoying he's being. "It's not our way. You know what happened to Zuko. There's no hope for me."

"Then maybe it's time to realize that you don't need your dad's forgiveness."

"Don't need it?" she laughs, a little hysterically. "This isn't some trivial mistake. This is a _country _we're talking about. _Our _country. And I lost it. I could have helped him, taken it back for both of us, if I'd just been..."

Faster. Stronger. Smarter. Better. It could be anything.

Sokka lets her trail off, watches her for a moment before he answers. "I know that. And when I failed my dad, it was a country we were talking about, too. And I didn't just fail my dad, or the Fire Nation. I failed my sister, my friends, the _world. _And he still forgave me. Forgiveness is powerful."

"The Fire Nation? You think you were _helping _the _Fire Nation _when you attacked our capital city and tried to kill the Fire Lord?"

"Yes," he says evenly, still looking straight at her. "I do."

She sits back. "You're insane."

"Hey, I haven't made this into a stability contest," he says, a little cheekily, and she bristles. "Relax, Azula."

"The next time you call me that I'm going to burn your tongue off."

"And what a great loss that would be to all of womankind," he sighs dramatically. Instantly, her face is on fire.

"_What? _I—you— "

He laughs and she leaps up, which proves to be a little more challenging than she'd expected. Her legs are wobbly when she points at him.

"You've got some fucking nerve!"

"Maybe I do," he concludes, still chuckling at his own joke as he gets to his feet. They're so close, face-to-face with only bars between them, and she has to lift her chin to look him in the eye. "But you like it, don't you?"

She's momentarily lost for words, gaping at him. "Get out!"

"I'm going, I'm going," he chuckles, slinging his boomerang onto his back and walking towards the door. "Happy New Year. And princess?"

She glares at him. He's looking back at her with his hand on the doorknob.

"Maybe if you don't know yourself anymore, you should try and get to know whoever it is you're becoming."

Then he walks through the door before she can answer. Not that she knows what she would have said, anyway.

She wonders if he actually thinks she's beautiful.

Her head is still swimming when she gets into bed, and it doesn't stop when she lays down. In fact, her stomach starts to rise and fall, and her thoughts blur together until she has to force herself to sit up and drink some water. It's a strange feeling, not being in complete control. For half a second she wonders if he's poisoned her, but then she remembers they were drinking out of the same bottle. The thought makes her stomach twitch.

She hopes that rest will help, but before she closes her eyes there's something she wants to try. She listens to the noises of the festival outside, raises one finger, and concentrates.

_ka-FWOOM!_

The firework arcs up, bursting against the ceiling into shards of blue sparkles. They rain down, glittering as the explosion echoes, and, just for a second, she smiles.

A month passes. The weather stays cool, and she has to use her own fire more than once to ward off the chill at night. At first, she thinks of her brother, snug and warm in the Fire Lord's chambers, without a care in the world. Then she thinks of her uncle, who surely suffered August's heat in this same tower.

The days drift by, and gradually, without really thinking about it, she realizes that she's begun to keep track. She doesn't scratch tally marks into the wall — gods forbid — but she keeps count in her head. First, a week. Then two weeks. Then three. And then, unconsciously, she starts to expect him.

"I wonder what I will be, when I come home again…"

She's firebending, shooting glittering sparks from her fingers, trying to see how precise she can get. She's already mastered fireworks, but the sparks are too inconsistent — she wants them to crackle continuously. She concentrates.

"I will be a white fox, and run through the icy land…"

She pauses, listening. Someone is singing outside — a man.

"Seals slide below the water, the buntings circle high…"

The sound is getting closer; whoever it is is walking towards the tower. She doesn't recognize the song — it's certainly not Fire Nation. The tune is plaintive, haunting; it fills her with a kind of ache, and she stills. His voice is dark and deep.

"And snow falls in summer, as at the moon I cry…"

The tower door swings open.

"...as at the moon I cry," Sokka finishes, latching the door behind him. Then he turns, his eyes landing on her, and he smirks. "What's up, princess?"

She stares at him. His voice is still reverberating through her.

"What are you doing here?"

"You'd think you'd be tired of asking me that," he says, scratching his cheek as he strolls over to her cell. "For your information, I forgot my saké the last time I was here, and I'd like it back, thank you very much."

She keeps staring at him. His hair is shaggier than ever, and he looks shamelessly cheerful. "Your saké."

"Yes, princess, my saké," he says, grinning. "Or did you forget about New Year's? I didn't think you were _that _drunk. But I guess you're probably a lightweight—"

"I wasn't drunk!" she says indignantly, sitting up a little straighter. "I just think you're full of it."

"Oh?" Sokka examines his nails, supremely unconcerned. "Well, be that as it may, I still want my saké back."

"You're lucky I didn't drink it."

"Ahhh, I knew you wouldn't."

"No, you didn't. You didn't _know._"

"Yes I did. Hey, I've got my Pai Sho board here. You wanna play?"

She's dug the sake out from under her bed, and looks up to make a face at him. He's already settled himself onto the ground in front of her cell. "No."

"What, you don't like Pai Sho?" he asks, rattling the tiles. "Afraid you'll get beat?"

She snorts. "Don't make me laugh."

"Oh, I will eventually."

She reaches out through the bars to set the saké by his knee, and then straightens up, eyeing him. He's busy arranging pieces on the board.

"You sure you don't want to play? I'll give you a run for your money," he says, wiggling his eyebrows up at her. "We can gamble for saké possession."

"I am not going to play you in _Pai Sho_," she says, putting as much disgust into her voice as she can. "Or anything else, for that matter. Besides, you'd lose your saké, and that would defeat the whole point of you being here, wouldn't it?"

"Don't be so sure about that," he warns her. "I'm a master of strategy."

"Oh really?" she folds her arms. "Then why are you arranging those pieces in the wrong order?"

He squints down at the board. "Am I?"

She rolls her eyes, and can't resist bending down again to fix his mistake. "Idiot."

He just shrugs. "Fine. But I've got three hours until I have to catch the ferry, and I am _not_ walking anywhere else today."

And so he starts to practice, playing solitaire, and she finds herself leaning against the bars to watch him. He's awful, even just against himself, and she can't help but correct his especially stupid mistakes.

"_No_, you can't do that! That move's illegal. Gods, do you even know the _rules?_"

"Rules, schmules," Sokka grins. "Who needs 'em?"

"Never gamble," she advises him, and he laughs, so loud and full that, for a second, she forgets to frown at him.

"You wanna teach me?"

"What I _want_," she says, "is for you to go away and leave me alone."

"You make it too easy to antagonize you," he tells her, and executes _another_ illegal move on the Pai Sho board.

"Okay, that's it," she declares, and drops into a cross-legged position. "Give me my pieces."

She's anticipating a quick thrashing, a sixty-second domination, so when he blocks her first move, she squints at him.

"What, that's not illegal too, is it?"

"No."

She moves again, and he blocks her again. When she moves a different piece, he hops it. Her eyes dart up to his face — he's clearly trying not to laugh.

She scowls. "Oh, it's on."

He grins infuriatingly back at her. "Bring it on, princess."

It turns into the longest game of Pai Sho she's ever played. She gets engrossed in it without meaning to: the joy of actually having something to _do_, something to think about, is kind of intoxicating. It's maddening too, though — while she studies the board and plans her next five moves, Sokka rambles on about Earth Kingdom warrants and yesterday's bad experience with fire flakes. She has to try hard not to huff in frustration. Agni, it seems like he's not even _trying_, and yet he keeps blocking her!

"I am going to make you regret this," she swears, and hops one of his pieces.

"Me?" he exclaims. "You're regretting this enough right now for both of us."

"Hardly. I'm going to enjoy crushing you."

He grins at her, almost fondly. "There's that good ol' sadism."

"Shut up."

He leans forward, his blue eyes sparkling with challenge. "Why don't you make me?"

Heat blooms instantly across the back of her neck, and she distracts him by hopping another one of his tiles. She sweeps it into her pile of pieces, and prays that her blush isn't visible on her face.

"There. Now shut up."

"Shit! The arctic wolf is my favorite… okay, hmm…"

They're still going strong an hour later, and when the tower door creaks open, they both jump.

"Councilman?" the guard asks, looking astounded. Azula's dinner steams in his hands. "Don't you need to catch the ferry?"

"Fuck, it's dinnertime already?" Sokka leaps to his feet, his pieces scattering. "I'm gonna be late!"

The guard hovers around the door, looking uncomfortable under Azula's glare as Sokka scrambles around.

"Guess we're gonna have to cut it short, Azula," Sokka says apologetically, sweeping tiles back into his bag. "I'll destroy you next time."

"You wish."

He grins at her, folding up the board. "That's a promise, not a wish."

"Sure." She hesitates. "But who won today?"

He thinks about it, then shrugs. "It's a draw."

"A _draw?_" she says, horrified.

"Yeah. We almost played to a standstill, anyway."

"There are no _draws _in Pai Sho!"

"Yes, there are," Sokka says, swinging his bag onto his shoulder. "There are four ways, and you're three moves away from one of them right now."

She sits back, breathing hard out her nose. "You're the worst."

"Whatever you say," he chuckles, and salutes her. "Wish me luck on my mad dash to the docks."

And then he's gone.

She just stares after him. The guard, who's swathed nearly head-to-foot in fireproof fabric, edges towards her cell.

"Is that true?" she demands, her eyes falling onto him. "Are there four ways to draw in Pai Sho?"

He jumps at being addressed, and slides her dinner towards her as fast as he can. "I don't know, princess."

She scoffs. "A _draw_."

"If anyone would know," he ventures cautiously, "it would probably be Sokka. He knows the rules inside-out. He's beaten everyone in court except General Iroh."

She digests this disgusting piece of information as the guard slides out, looking extremely relieved at her preoccupation.

She eats, barely noticing the pasty consistency of the food. A _draw. _The audacity of him…

Next time, she vows, scraping the bowl. Next time, she'll get him.

Time continues to pass in seven-day intervals. Sleeping gets a little easier, although the dreams don't let up — what's worse, they start to change, with a pair of blue eyes beginning to crop up everywhere. She tries not to think about it, but she has to admit it's better than dreaming of her father burning her hair to the scalp over, and over, and over.

It's beginning to warm; the nights are thawing, and she can hear the wet breezes outside, even if she can't feel them. She's not _expecting_ him, she tells herself — she's certainly not looking forward to it. She's just noticing a pattern. His visits have become one of the only reliable ways to tell how much time is passing.

She actually eats the lunch when it's brought, and she's resting, just beginning to drift out of a doze, when she becomes aware that there's someone else in the prison tower. She wakes up silently and suddenly and lies still, listening, her senses tingling. She keeps her eyes closed. It sounds like they're just outside her cell, and they're obviously making an effort to be quiet—definitely not a guard, then, and no one else ever comes in here. It's too early for them to bring dinner, anyway. There's a rustle, then silence. Then there's the snap-_whoosh! _of fire igniting and she leaps up, spinning to send a column of blue flames at her would-be attacker.

"_OW!_" Sokka yells, dropping a pair of spark rocks and a folder of scrolls, clutching his hand. "What the fuck was that for?"

She claps her hands over her mouth, horrified. "Shit, Sokka, I'm sorry!" She's running over to the bars before she's even thought about what she's doing. "Are you okay?"

He winces and uncurls his hand, examining it. The skin is red and shiny — it's already beginning to blister. "Yeah. I'm okay."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it was you," she groans. "I heard the spark rocks, and I thought—" she breaks off, staring at him. "Wait, why are you here?"

"To see you, genius!" he snaps. "I didn't know this was the welcome I was going to get!" He sticks a finger in his mouth, sucking on the angry skin.

"Don't do that," she says impatiently. "You'll make it worse. You need cold water and some ointment. And I _told_ you, I didn't know it was you, I didn't mean to burn you."

"Yeah, whatever," he mutters, kicking at the crumpled scrolls around his feet. "And now these are all mixed up…"

"Sokka—"

"...and you singed my bag, too…"

"Stop sucking on it!"

He frowns at her, ready to retort, but then she sees something dawn on his face and he starts to smile.

She stares at him. "What?"

He's still sucking on his finger but he's grinning now. "You said you were sorry."

She huffs. "_What?_"

"You said you were sorry," he repeats. "You said you didn't mean to burn me, and that you were sorry."

She crosses her arms. For once, she's at a loss.

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. Just now."

"I did not."

"Did too."

She glares at him. "You can't prove it."

Then he laughs, and she realizes that she's kind of missed that sound. "Maybe not," he taps his head, "but it'll live in my memory forever."

She's trying to keep up the glare, but it's proving rather difficult. "Well, _you _just admitted that you're here to see me."

He freezes, looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Well, uh—"

She can't help it — she makes a noise that can only be described as a _giggle. _He stares at her, and she immediately redoubles her glaring efforts. "Don't look at me like that!"

"I made you laugh. Go on, admit it."

"You did not," she says stiffly. "I was just laughing at your dumb expression. And don't try to change the subject!"

"I didn't," he replies, dropping his injured hand and picking up his spark rocks.

"You did! You said you were here to see me! Go on, admit it."

"Well," he settles himself on the floor, "if that was true, which it's not, you would then have to explain why you're happy about it."

"What? I'm not happy!"

"Of course you're not," he answers, smoothing out a document over his knee. "Because I never said that."

She throws her hands up, and two curls of fire crackle against the ceiling. "Gods, you're impossible!"

"So you keep telling me."

They have another one of those moments where they just stare at each other. She wonders if it's just her imagination that they keep getting longer and longer.

"You should go up to the palace and get that bandaged."

"Nah," he says, dropping his eyes to examine his hand. "That'll fuck with my schedule."

"Your schedule," she repeats.

"Yeah, my schedule." He pulls some linen out of his bag and rips off a strip with his teeth. She wrinkles her nose. "I'm here now, then I have to be in the war room for a meeting at three, and then I have to catch the boat back to the Shu-Jing village at six."

"What are you talking about?"

"Aren't you the one always making fun of me for being a councilman?" he rolls his eyes, now expertly binding up his hand. "Why do you think I'm in Caldera City every month?"

"Oh, I see." She's trying not to stare at his quick-moving fingers. "So you've decided to stick your nose into the rest of the world's business, now."

"Something like that."

He ties off the bandage, and another thought occurs to her. "Why do you even have those spark rocks?"

"Incense," he says, like this is the most obvious thing in the world, and waves a fallen stick of it.

"Why didn't you just ask me to light it?"

He looks at her as though this would have never occurred to him. "Well, you were asleep, and I, uh — I didn't really think that you— "

"What?" she demands. "You didn't think I would do it?"

"Uh, no, not really."

She turns away and he rolls his eyes again. "Come on, Azula, you've got to be joking. You can't blame me for that."

"If I have to tell you to stop calling me that _one more fucking time—_"

"You'll what?" he interrupts. "Burn me? You've already done that. So just keep me company while I work on this, would you?"

She wants to retort, but she loses her train of thought as she watches him start to re-alphabetize his papers. A lock of dark brown hair has come loose from his ponytail, and it flops into his eyes when he bends his head to fiddle with the calligraphy set. She doesn't say anything, but she leans her elbows against the bars, watching him. He glances up to see if she's still there and their eyes meet; they share something like a smile, cautious and curious.

"What is it?"

"A proposition for Li Wei," he says, and spreads out a scroll dense and black with characters, many of them scratched out. "He's a huge landowner in the Earth Kingdom, and he's been required for years to give a high quota of his produce and grain to the Fire Nation. Now that the war's over, he doesn't want to do it anymore, but a lot of the soldiers depend on it. Several colony towns, too."

"I remember that name," she says slowly. "So, what's your plan?"

"Well, I don't know," he says pensively, staring down at the mess of ink in front of him. "We've tried and failed several times already to come to an agreement, but a month of the new quarter's gone by already and he hasn't provided anything. It's going to mean serious overextension of resources unless we can figure something out soon."

She crouches in front of him and holds out her hand. He gives her a confused look and she clicks her fingers impatiently. "The incense."

He hands it to her through the bars and she pinches the ends of it, sticking it into her own burning tray. The fragrant smoke begins to curl up at once — it's fresh, something like lime verbena and cherries. She approves of his taste.

"So, tell me," she says, settling herself into a cross-legged position, "what it is that you've tried already."

He looks at her for a second, surprised, and then turns his gaze to the scroll. She watches his eyes move, two brilliant chips of ice in his dark face, sliding easily down the characters as he explains. She listens as best she can; it's been a long time since she was involved in anything like this.

"You're being too nice," she says finally. He rolls his eyes for the third time that day.

"Oh, please. You would say that if we fireballed him and took the tomatoes by force."

"Well, that sounds like a perfectly fine strategy to me," she sniffs. "But since you don't want to do that, you need to keep the idea of equivalent retaliation in mind."

He raises an eyebrow. "And that is?"

"Always cooperate, until provoked. If provoked, always retaliate with equal force." She shakes her head. "You're not doing a good job using equal force."

"Well it's not like we've just let him off the hook completely—"

"I know that," she says. "But he ignored your deadline of the first quarter. You can't let him box you in by following _his _deadline."

"But if no one's following deadlines everything'll just fall into chaos!"

He looks so genuinely distressed by this idea that she has to laugh. "It's about control, not chaos. You're a councilman. Zuko is the Fire Lord, for Agni's sake. This is a _farmer_. Even if he is important in his own little world, you can't let him push you around. You need to remind him who's boss."

"Yeah, and then he'll get offended and refuse to agree to anything."

"Not so," she counters. "Try it. Build golden bridges. Give him some wins in the deal but make it sound like he doesn't have a choice, like this is your final offer before you really do just fireball him and take the tomatoes."

He narrows his eyes, grinning slyly with his paintbrush between his teeth. "I didn't know you had a sense of humor."

"I don't," she says primly. "Don't be silly."

He laughs, and warmth surges through her middle. "Please. I'm never silly."

A moment passes and she realizes that they're almost smiling at each other again. She drops her eyes and clears her throat.

"So, what are you going to do?"

He taps the brush against his cheek. "I'm thinking… something to do with the taxes. Maybe offer to take off a percentage of the taxes he pays to import the goods? I'm sure he's making more money in the Fire Nation than he is in the Earth Kingdom, anyway, seeing as most fresh produce is already marked up here."

"So he probably doesn't even really want to ax the deal," she agrees. "He just wants a better one. But how are you going to make up for that loss of revenue?"

"I can ask Zuko to do some fiddling with the bookkeeping, rearrange some numbers. He's going to cut military funding, so maybe that can be where it comes out of."

She scowls. "He's going to _what?_"

"I know it might be hard to get used to the idea," he says quietly, "but he wants to invest more of that money into domestic schools and technology. We don't need cutting-edge war machines anymore."

"But that's going to threaten national security!"

"No, it's not," Sokka says impatiently. "Think! Do you really think the Water Tribes are eager to attack the Fire Nation? Do you really think the Earth Kingdom wants to have you knocking at their door all day and night again? Of course not. There'll still be national security, there's just going to be less national aggression."

"You sound awfully ignorant."

"And you sound awfully set in your ways."

She scowls.

"Anyways," he says, ignoring her and dipping his brush into the ink, "you're probably right, we have been too nice. It's time to repent, not time to grovel."

She approves of this, even though she won't open her mouth to tell him.

They're both quiet for a while. She knows she should work over the latest problem of Zuko's idiocy, but she gets preoccupied watching Sokka write. She rests her chin on top of a bar, studying the scene — she likes the way he looks right now, focusing hard with his eyebrows furrowed. The smoke from the incense is making her feel warm and distracted, and she finds herself studying his mouth. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, worries it back and forth a bit, then releases it. It's full, curved and soft-looking, and the pink tip of his tongue pokes out just above it in concentration. That mouth… he's always shooting it off, always talking back… if losing his tongue would be a loss to all of womankind, she wonders what there is to be gained by leaving it in his head.

She shifts. He's almost certainly involved with someone — as annoying as he is, he's not completely hideous. She doesn't like this thought, of Sokka getting on the Shu-Jing ferry and sailing back to some loser who's not half as smart as he is. A memory comes back to her as if across an ocean, hazy and half-forgotten, of the pain in his face when she'd taunted him about that girl. She'd lied, of course, made it all up just to provoke him, and it had worked. It'd been easy, even though he'd realized it was a trap... He'd been so close to her then, just inches from her face, anguished and angry… but she'd been the one in control then. Now, she's not so sure.

"You okay?"

She blinks. "Hm?"

"I said, are you okay?" He's paused, looking at her with his dripping brush raised. "You look upset."

"I'm fine."

"If you say so," he says skeptically. When he turns his attention back to what he's doing, she notices for the first time that he's writing with his left hand, the burned and bandaged right curled gingerly in his lap.

"I didn't know you were ambidextrous."

Now it's his turn to look confused. "What?"

"You're ambidextrous. When you showed me that statement of war crimes you were writing with your right hand."

She had no idea this piece of information was even in her memory banks. She almost kicks herself for allowing it to come to the surface, but he just grins at her roguishly.

"Yeah. What, you didn't expect me to be good with my hands?"

He winks at her, and she blushes immediately. Now she really wants to kick herself.

"Oh — you're disgusting!"

"Whatever you say, princess," he shrugs, and rolls out a blank scroll next to the old one. She scoots a little closer to the bars in spite of herself, cheeks still burning, and peers at the rough draft.

"Did you come up with something?"

"Uh huh," he grunts, brush held between his teeth again as he tidies up. "And I'm done after this, he can take it or leave it. This is my final word on the whole fucking thing."

"That's the spirit."

He flashes her a smile, and even she can't come up with an excuse for the backflip that her stomach performs.

_CREEEAAAK!_

The door swings open and she jumps from the ground, hands up, just as her brother walks through it. He stops dead at the end of the hallway, eyes widening at the scene in front of him, then continues forward. Sokka just glances up before turning his attention back to his scroll, carefully painting a title across the top.

"Hey, Zuko."

"Uh, hey," he answers, confusion written all over his face. He glances at his sister. "Azula."

"What do you want?" she snarls, fire flaring to life above her hands. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Sokka glance up at her, looking surprised, but she doesn't care. She's filled with a sudden and violent anger that her stupid brother is here, that he's _interrupting._

"Cool it," Zuko says, crossing his arms. "I'm just looking for my Water Tribe councilman, who's been missing in action for nearly three hours."

"You found me," Sokka says, now writing a header underneath his title. "What do you win?"

"Well, I'm hoping for a Li Wei proposition so we're not empty-handed this afternoon."

And now Sokka's attention is going to be occupied with explaining the tediums of diplomacy to Zuko, who's apparently too dense to study them even though he's the _Fire Lord. _Something caves inside her chest and she throws the flames to the ground in disgust.

_FWOOOOOM!_

They explode against the stones, sending searing heat over all of them and adding a dozen more scorch marks. Sokka yelps, protecting his papers, and Zuko drops into a bending stance.

"Don't bother," she spits at him. "Just go play politics somewhere else and stop disturbing me."

He looks at her warily and then glances at Sokka, who's busy batting out a spark threatening his mobile library. She watches her brother's eyes and feels her heart drop when they center on the bandaged hand. She knows what's coming next, and—

"What happened there?" Zuko points.

"Grabbed a hot poker in my room last night," Sokka says, picking his brush back up. "I was just being dumb, falling asleep over this stupid document and not paying attention."

Zuko frowns, and a profoundly unfamiliar emotion floods through her. She glances at Sokka — he's continuing to write out characters, not even bothering to look up at either one of them. Agni, he lied to the Fire Lord, and he lied for her sake_. _Is this the same man who wanted her killed five months ago?

"Well, okay, but you should probably let them look at it up at the palace."

"Yeah, I will before I leave tonight."

There's silence, broken only by the swish of Sokka's brush. She's still standing in the center of her cell, the floor smoking at her feet, unable to decide where to look or what to think. Zuko clears his throat, glancing between the two of them again.

"Well… okay. Meeting starts in half an hour, Sokka, so you better save time for the walk back to the palace."

"Yeah, I will."

Zuko waits, like he's hoping for some kind of explanation, but none is offered.

"Oh-kay. I guess I'll see you later."

He turns and walks down the hall, stopping one more time before he opens the door. She watches his eyes trace over both of them, a frown etched into his features, and she knows that Sokka's going to get an interrogation later. What surprises her is her confidence that he'll be able to handle it.

"See you, hotman."

Zuko rolls his eyes so hard she's sure they're going to stick up in his head and huffs out of the tower. She almost wants to laugh at her brother's dramatics, but she's too distracted to fully appreciate them.

Sokka doesn't say anything once Zuko's gone, so neither does she. Instead, she walks over to her bed and sinks onto it. Whereas before the silence between them was comfortable, companionable, now it's been charged up with unsaid things and unasked questions. She feels the weight of it, pressing down on her and tensing her muscles, but he seems unbothered: he just keeps writing, checking his rough draft or a library scroll from time to time and humming that haunting melody. She can almost hear the minutes ticking towards when he'll have to leave again, and she's dreading it. She wishes that she was still right in front of him, close enough to examine the curve of his lips and the color of his eyelashes, but it's too late now — the silence is too great and the stillness too established for her to get up and break it.

When he finally sits back from the scroll, he sighs with satisfaction. "There. Done."

She doesn't say anything. When he looks up, their eyes meet across the room, and she feels a jolting shiver travel through her. She can almost hear the crackle of it, the energy that hangs between them, that pressing and pulling that leaves her breathless. Now he's not saying anything, just looking at her, and the air is darkening with the rapidity of a monsoon. She knows she can't look away first, but gods it's difficult, and her body is coiled so tightly that she feels like each passing second is the one where she'll explode—

"Thank you."

Such a simple thing, just two words, but he's looking straight into her eyes and saying it in that low rough way that makes her shiver all over again.

"For what?"

"For your help."

She's struck mute as she watches him gather his papers up, stretching his back and slinging his bag onto his shoulder. The air is still heavy between them and she knows she should say something, but her senses seem to have short-circuited — all she can see is his hand wrapped in linen, and all she can smell is the burnt-out incense. He looks at her like he's waiting for something, but when she doesn't give it, he just rolls up his finished manuscript and walks towards the door. She knows what she needs to say, but it's so hard to choke it out, so hard to form words that she's only said a handful of times in her entire life—

"Thank you."

He stops. Turns around.

"For what?"

She bites her lip. "For… for your help."

He smiles. "No problem. I've got your back, fire lily."

She thinks she almost smiles back, and he winks at her one more time before the door thuds shut behind him.

It's only after he's gone that she remembers she's not supposed to let him call her that.

It's nighttime when she's woken up again, this time by someone who isn't trying to be quiet at all.

"Azula!"

The door slams, and this voice is nothing like the one from her dreams. She rolls over.

"What do you want, Zuzu?"

She watches as her brother strides over to her cell and grips the bars, obviously fuming. She yawns.

"I want to know what you think you're playing at!"

She stretches. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bullshit," Zuko snaps. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Why was he in here with you? What did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything," she smirks. "If you want to know why he was in here, you'll have to ask him. It's not like I forced him to come. I'm _powerless _in here, remember?"

Zuko exhales hard, fire flaring from his nostrils. "When are you going to realize that you can't _do _this stuff anymore?"

"When it snows in summer, Zuko."

He scowls mightily. "And that burn on his hand, you expect me to believe he got that from a poker and not from you? You've attacked anyone and everyone I've put near you, and Sokka's not exactly a pacifist."

"No. He's very impertinent."

He lowers his chin.. "I swear to the gods, Azula… if you hurt him, it'll be the Boiling Rock, and you'll be on your way there the second I find out."

She laughs. "You couldn't find anything out if you sat on it, Zuko. Don't flatter yourself."

She waits for him to yell at her, but he just grits his teeth. "I'm not kidding, Azula. That's my brother. You wouldn't deserve him if you repented for a hundred lifetimes, and I'm not going to let you manipulate him."

She feels a crack in her chest, and before she knows it she's leapt out of bed. A white-hot tunnel of flames spirals towards Zuko, who swipes it aside with both hands.

"What would you know?" she snarls. "I suppose he's just forgiven everything you've ever done to him? All the times you tried to shoot him down, all the times you tried to capture him?"

Zuko seems surprised by this sudden explosion of anger. "I— "

"You _what?_" she shrieks, punctuating each word with bolts of fire. He dodges, sends up a wall of yellow flames to block her, but she doesn't let up. "You _what_, exactly? Have _you _repented for a hundred lifetimes, Zuko? Have _you _been locked in a dark tower for a year and a half? Tell me more about how much you've suffered! Tell me more about how I'll never be good enough!"

"It has nothing to do with that!" he yells back, looking astounded even as he ducks and rolls to avoid her fire. "I just don't want you hurting my friend!"

She laughs, and even to her ears it's an insane sound. "Oh, what a _saint!_"

The door to the tower crashes open, and the soldiers that keep guard outside burst into the hall.

"Fire Lord Zuko— "

She sends a wave of fire towards them without thinking twice about it; this is a private affair. She realizes that her cheeks are wet.

"Out!" Zuko yells as they all duck. "Get out! I can handle her myself!"

"Oh, you can, can you?"

The door slams. The room is blurry to her eyes, the air heavy and hot. Zuko's epaulet is smoking. "I wouldn't be so sure, if I were you!"

"Save it!" He leaps backwards and then off the wall, somersaulting to kick a huge curl of flames at her. She's forced to defend, and she backs up until she's against the wall. She knows that she needs to attack, aggress, but she can barely see through the tears now rolling down her face. She can feel it all slipping, feel it all fracturing apart again, and she shoots wave after wave of fire until she starts missing him by feet.

"Azula."

He's noticed her tears. The orange wall in front of her sinks into the ground. One last tendril of blue lashes against the floor near his feet and dies. The fire stops coming from both of them, and the silence is deafening.

Her brother walks slowly forward. He's smoldering profusely; she's burned off the hem of his robe. She, on the other hand, hasn't been touched — years ago, she would have taken this as another example of her own prowess, but now she's sure that he's not even trying to hurt her. The thought just makes her angrier, and she sucks in a shuddering breath.

"Azula?" He grips the bars again, but now he looks confused, awed, worried. "Azula, what is it?"

She wants to laugh in his face, taunt him, but she can't. There's probably a way for her to take advantage here, to think strategically and bend him to her will, but she just can't focus long enough to do it.

"Azula. Talk to me."

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm asking you to," he says gently, and he sounds so much like their mother in that moment that she almost sobs. "I want to know why you're upset. What's going on with you and Sokka?"

She turns away. "I don't know." She hates how small her voice sounds.

"You don't know?"

"No, I— I…"

"You can tell me."

She scowls wetly at him then, over her shoulder. "Oh, can I, Zuko? What reason have you ever given me to trust you?"

"Well, what reason have you ever given me to care about you?" It's a brutal statement, but he says it mildly. "Not much, but I try to anyway. I know you don't trust me. But maybe you could… try."

They're both quiet for a second.

"He was just visiting me." The words spill out of her mouth, unbidden. "He does every once in a while. That's it."

Zuko frowns. "He _does?_ I thought he hated you."

She wants to get angry, but it seems that she's cried it all out. "Well… I did too."

"Huh." He looks so stumped, so _dumb _and so very like himself that she smiles a tiny smile through her tears. "I wonder why."

"You didn't ask him this afternoon?"

"Well… kind of," he shifts from foot to foot. "I tried. But the meeting went long and he was late to catch the boat, so he had to run to the docks. I didn't get much of a chance to grill him."

"He came on my birthday," she says, and she wonders why her mouth keeps volunteering information.

"Well, that part I knew about. I didn't have time to come, and I asked him to deliver your gift. But I just assumed he'd leave it at the door with the guards, I didn't know that he actually came _inside_…"

They look at each other for a moment.

"So, what's the deal?" Zuko asks quietly, like he's deathly afraid of the answer. "What's _your _deal?"

She turns and walks the length of the cell. Now's the time, if she's going to weasel her way out of this one. Now's the time, if she's going to play the whole thing off, and then she and Zuko can go back to their usual hostility, she and Sokka can go back to… what?

"I guess I… sort of… care about him."

Zuko blinks. "You do?"

"Yes," she says defiantly. "I can care about people too, Zuzu."

"Um… okay." He rubs his eyes like he thinks he might be dreaming. "You... um, okay."

"Don't sound so surprised."

"It's hard not to."

She just sighs. "Whatever, Zuko."

He looks at her oddly, like she's freaking him out. "Okay. You care about Sokka. Uh… does he care about you, too?"

He's voiced the question that's been torturing her for months, and she squeezes her eyes shut, willing the world to fall away.

"Don't ask me that."

"You don't know," Zuko says, realization creeping into his voice. "You hope he does, but you don't know."

"Zuko!" she snaps. "Don't!"

"Okay, okay," he says, holding his hands up. "Sorry. I just… wow."

"You're not making me feel any better here!"

"Sorry," he says again, and laces his fingers together. "Do you want me to ask him for you?"

"No!" she chokes. "Don't you dare!"

"I could do it subtly. I wouldn't tell him we talked about it."

"Absolutely not," she says. Her heart is pounding in her throat at the very thought. "Don't, Zuko."

"Okay, I won't if you don't want me to. What _do _you want me to do?"

"Nothing!" she snarls. "The fact that you know at all is bad enough!"

"Fine, fine," he says, raising his hands again. "I'll stay out of it. I just don't understand how this happened, I guess. How did he even get near you without you hitting him with lightning?"

The next words tumble out before she can stop herself. "I can't shoot lightning anymore."

He looks at her like she's really insane now. "You _what?_"

_Fuck. _She leans against the wall and covers her face with her hands. _What is happening to me?_

"Woah. Azula. Is that true?"

"That's why I said it, idiot," she mumbles. "Gods, you're dense."

She waits for him to make fun of her, knowing that she won't be able to blame him, because it's what she would do. She's fallen, cracked up, and she's not even good enough to be better than him anymore. How many times did she mock him about his firebending? How often did she hold her own skill over his head? And now… she closes her eyes and waits for the blow to fall.

"I'm really sorry," he says softly. "That must be really hard."

She opens her eyes slowly and looks at him. He's still there, his hands around the bars now, looking at her like he can't believe it. She crosses her arms.

"I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity, it's empathy," he retorts. "I almost lost my firebending when I left to find Aang. It was one of the most devastating things I've ever been through."

"Almost?" she wrinkles her nose. "There wasn't a whole lot to lose in the first place."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he rolls his eyes. "You get my point." He eyes her suspiciously for a minute, like he's wondering if she's really telling the truth. "You really can't do it anymore? You've tried more than once? "

"Yes, Zuzu." She's beginning to realize how tired she feels. "Over and over and over."

"Well, shit." He puts his hand to his chin, the way he does when he's thinking hard. "I guess after Sozin's comet, and your…" he glances at her, and the unspoken word hangs in the air between them. _Breakdown. _"Well, I guess that that would have taken it away, since you lost your peace of mind. But if you still can't do it now, you must have permanently changed."

Her stomach flutters in panic. "Do you think I'll never be able to do it again?"

She can't even remember the last time she asked him something like this, genuinely and fearfully, with all of her hopes weighing on his opinion. Maybe never. Suddenly they're little kids in the garden again, and her big brother is showing her the wonders of fire for the first time.

"No," he says slowly, "no, I think you should be able to relearn. But it'll take work, and it'll take even more personal growth than you've already gone under."

"_Personal growth? _But I haven't changed. I don't _want _to change."

"I don't think you've had much choice in the matter, 'Zula."

She should fry him for that, but she's got bigger things to worry about. "But I want a choice. I _need _a choice."

Zuko shakes his head slowly. "Azula… I know you've always had a hard time letting go, but sometimes it's the best way to move forward. A pebble in a river doesn't get to decide where it goes, but by the time it gets there, it'll be smoother than when the journey began. Maybe this is that time of life for you."

She rolls her eyes at him. "Agni, you sound like Uncle."

"I kind of do, don't I?" He looks rather pleased with himself, then snaps his fingers so loudly that she jumps. "That's it! I'll ask Uncle about it! If anyone would know how you can get it back, it'd be him."

"No," she says immediately. "I don't want him to know."

"What? Why not?"

"Well, because— well, just because."

"Azula," Zuko says exasperatedly.

"Because he hates me!" she cries, throwing her hands up. "Because he hates me and I don't want him to know that I'm this weak, is that what you want me to say?"

"He doesn't hate you," Zuko says at once. "You're still his niece. And you're not weak. Being human doesn't make you weak, and neither does having feelings. If you're embarrassed about it, then okay, I get that. I won't tell him it's about you. I'll make it sound purely theoretical, alright?"

She doesn't say anything, scuffing at the edge of a cobblestone with her toe.

"Azula," he repeats. "_Alright?_"

"Alright," she says finally, scowling. "Fine. But if you tell _anyone _about this— and I mean _any _of it— "

"I won't," Zuko says. "I promise."

A bit of the heat inside her chest seems to have lessened. He looks at her a minute longer, but she's silent — the show's over. That's more than enough sharing for today.

"Okay, well, I guess I'm going to go." He glances around at the smoldering floor. "Agni, it's a mess in here. If I send someone in to scrub off the stones, do you think you could resist destroying them?"

"I guess," she mutters.

He almost cracks a smile, which, for her brother, is saying a lot. "Thanks. And Azula? Sokka's got a good heart. Don't use him, alright?"

He's gone before she answers, the door swinging shut behind him. Smoke curls up from the floor, a strange mix of lime verbena and ash filling the air.

"I wasn't planning on it."

It's a realization that surprises even her.


	3. May Flowers

**Part 3 **—** May Flowers**

* * *

Spring is short in the Fire Nation. She can feel the approach of summer best at night, when the air stays warm and thunder rolls low through the sky. She has plenty to think about, and plenty to worry about. Sometimes she's paraylzed in the middle of a long, dull day by the fear that her brother is going to betray her, or that he's betrayed her already. It's bad enough that Zuko is walking around with enough information to humiliate and shame her— what disturbs her even more is that in order to be betrayed by someone, you have to be on the same side.

She continually wakes from dreams in a cold sweat. Sometimes they're nightmares, but sometimes they're dreams of the southern lights that echo with Sokka's laughter. Both are terrifying. She finishes burning her sage. More than once, she finds herself bringing her mother's half-burned portrait out from under her bed, and gazing at it as though there are answers hidden in the paint. In some moments she trains, practices, attacks the walls like an enemy and fights what can't be seen. In the end, though, Zuko is right: she is changing, and she can't do anything to stop remembers that she's waiting for Sokka only after she's gotten impatient. Another day passes, then another. She realizes that she doesn't know what time of the month he usually comes, or how long he stays in the capital city when he attends his meetings— all she knows is that four weeks have passed, and he still hasn't shown up. It's just another reminder that even though he has an entire life, the only part of it she'll ever share is the tiny percentage that takes place inside the prison tower.

It's a gusty April evening and she's in a foul mood, agitated and pacing and wondering why he hasn't come yet. It's been over a month since she last saw him, she's sure of it. She turns, biting her lip and listening to the wind whistle outside. She knows that she shouldn't have confided in Zuko, shouldn't have trusted him, but it was a moment of weakness and all she can do now is make sure that it doesn't happen again. But if he really did tell Sokka what she said, if he knows now…

She turns again, scooping fire out of thin air. If he did betray her, she's going to make sure he's very, very, sorry.

But there's no way to know for sure, the same way she can't be sure whether or not Sokka is ever going to come back. In the end she throws herself on the bed in something that feels very much like despair, and tries desperately to clear her mind and meditate. Instead, she falls asleep.

_In her dream, she's in the throne room, the fires burning blue in her presence. Her hair is perfect; her makeup is done again. She sits on her father's throne with Zuko's crown in her hair, and two huge dragons coil around the pillars on either side of her— one black, one red. Their great spiked heads rise and fall, circling around her. She sits, her back stiff, and stares straight ahead as they whisper to her._

_"Attack!" the black dragon hisses in her father's voice, baring its fangs. "What have I told you about hesitation?"_

_"No, Azula," Ursa's voice murmurs from the red dragon. "Consider your choices carefully!"_

_"Silence," she orders, her voice ringing. "I will decide."_

_"Heed me," the black dragon purrs. "Listen to me, my daughter. It is your duty to destroy them."_

_"No," insists the red dragon. "You must use your heart as well as your head."_

_"Bah!" Ozai's voice sneers. "Such weakness has no place in this throne room. Now, Azula, prove yourself. Your greatest loyalty is to your nation! Attack!"_

_"Hold back!" her mother insists. "There is power in restraint. You know who you are!"_

_Both of her hands burst into flames; the dragons hiss. "I will decide!"_

_The black dragon laughs. It's a horrible sound— cold and humorless. His great scaled body curves, snaking around the throne. "You are mine. I know what you will do. You are a loyal soldier, my daughter. Do not fail me."_

_She can feel that heat, that pain within her, and even as she watches, the fire spreads from her hands up her arms, to her elbows, to her shoulders._

_The dragons are both whispering now, one in each ear as they circle tighter and tighter around her. The air is hot in her lungs. The fire around the walls is growing, bursting with sparks and climbing its way out of the braziers, spreading across the ground towards her._

_"Attack! ATTACK!"_

_"NO!"_

_She screams. Her own fire, blue and hungry, has caught on the hem of her robes. The fire has already spread from her hands, burning into her back and shoulders. She can't seem to control it— it grows and grows, devouring everything it touches. Wave after wave of fire spills from the throne room walls, fire of her own making, swelling completely out of control. Her chest is splitting open. Her stomach feels as though it's burning to ashes._

_The blue fire eats up the columns around her, white-hot and spitting with delight. It keeps coming, billow after billow, and she's screaming, screaming. Her parents' voices are still hissing insistently in her ears as the throne burns out from underneath her._

_"Remember who you are!"_

_"Do your duty!"_

_"Azula!"_

_The pain inside of her is searing, splitting, and she wonders dimly who it could be that's calling her name like that. Her hair has come down— the crown has been melted right out of it, dripping gold onto the charred stone steps._

_"Azula!"_

_She tilts her chin to the ceiling as she burns. Snow is falling— blue, glittering, and silent._

"Azula!"

She gasps like she's coming up from underwater, sitting straight up in bed. The first thing her sleep-drugged brain registers is that she isn't on fire, after all. The second thing is that it's dark, very dark, and two very familiar blue eyes are glowing right outside her cell.

"Azula!" He sounds scared, and as she gasps for breath in the darkness, her eyes adjust. She can just make out his outline— he's gripping the bars, and he's shaking. "Are you— are you okay?"

She's still heaving for breath, her lungs and throat burning like she's been sprinting. Her parents' voices echo in her head, and as she presses her hands to her temples she realizes that she's shaking too.

"What are you _doing here?_"

"I couldn't sleep," he rushes out. "I wanted to see you before I left. I wasn't going to come, but I— you were having a nightmare."

As agonized as she is, his abandoned sentence does not escape her, and her stomach plummets. Ice grips her heart. "I knew it. Zuko told you."

"What?" He takes a step back, looking confused. "What does Zuko have to do with anything?"

She glares at him, her chest heaving. "You're lying."

"What? No I'm not! Zuko told me what? What are you even talking about?"

He looks genuinely distressed, and some of her fluttering panic subsides. She doesn't answer, taking a deep breath, and then another, trying to calm her frantic heartbeat. "Nothing. Nevermind."

He just looks at her, and they're silent for a moment. He's got that expression on, the one she can't read, and it infuriates her as much as it turns her on. She realizes that she's relieved to see him— she's _missed_ him.

"You were screaming." His voice is concerned, deep with sleep.

She flushes. "Was I? Well, I'm sorry to say that it wasn't the good kind."

He looks at her, shocked, and then starts to smile, shaking his head very, very slowly. "You… you can't start making jokes _now_."

"Says who?" she whispers. "Don't tell me what to do."

They stare at each other. The moment solidifies like creeping frost.

Her eyes have adjusted fully, and she can see him now. His hair is down, swinging freely to brush the sides of his face. His tunic is only half-done up, and she can see the dark skin and lean muscle underneath. He looks like he just rolled out of bed. He has, however, brought his sword and his club— even in times of peace, old habits die hard.

"Are you… okay?"

She wants to scoff at him but it comes out more like a half-sob as she turns away. "Okay? Yeah. I'm great."

"Don't lie to me."

His voice is low, and it's not a request— it's an order. A chill travels through her body.

"Azula."

_Spirits_, and the way he says her name…

"What, Sokka?" she says tightly. She realizes she's gripping her blanket. "It's the middle of the night. What do you want?"

"I already told you," he murmurs, and she watches out of the corner of her eye as he comes right up against the bars again. "I wanted to see you."

She can see him through the dark, his high cheekbones and full lips, and the outline of his chest against his shirt. Once again, she realizes they're staring at each other. His eyes are as bright as moonstones, full of something that she can't recognize.

The wind howls outside.

She's fully awake now, and it occurs to her that she's not dressed for visitors. When she pushes her covers back and steps out of bed, her wrapper gaps down the side, exposing her leg to the thigh. It's pointless to lie to herself— she knows he's there at the bars, watching her. She can feel his eyes on her bare skin.

She doesn't try to hide it.

Instead, she stands and pads over to the water basin. The silence between them stretches, broken only by the sound of water as she fills a goblet for herself and drinks thirstily.

He watches her.

She could just light the torch in the wall sconce, but for some reason, she doesn't want to. She likes the way he looks in the half-dark, his eyes flashing blue in the shadows. There's something strange and intimate about it that she doesn't want to let go of, not yet.

She fills the goblet again, and walks over to the bars with slow steps. He hasn't said anything, but watches her the whole way, waiting. When she draws right up in front of him and they're face-to-face, her nerve nearly fails her: she never imagined how hard it could be to meet those eyes. She has to tilt her chin up to look straight at him.

"Here." She holds out the water. "Want some?"

He pushes his hair out of his face. "Yeah."

When he reaches out and takes it through the bars, their fingers touch. Her stomach turns over— she _feels_ the crackle of energy racing over her skin. He might have touched her on purpose and she thinks that maybe he did, but what's more preoccupying is that his fingers were warm and dry and felt _wonderful_, even in such a tiny moment. When was the last time someone touched her? She doesn't know.

He tilts his head back and closes his eyes as he drinks. She watches his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.

"Thanks."

He holds the goblet out and she takes it by the rim, careful to avoid his fingers. She's simultaneously thrilled and terrified by his touch, and his body is distracting, close in the dark like this. She turns around after a moment, carrying the cup back to the basin, feeling his eyes on her as she goes. It's as if she's conscious of every particle in her own body, vibrating under his gaze.

"So what were you dreaming about?"

As low as it is, his voice carries, cutting through the sound of the wind outside. She turns, putting a hand on her hip.

"None of your business."

He clicks his tongue. "Such attitude."

"How dare you!" she frowns. Both of his hands are back on the bars, large enough to wrap all the way around. "That's not the kind of question you ask a princess, and a lady."

"Oh, are you a lady?" he smiles lazily, leaning against his hands. "You should have told me. I had no idea."

She wants to brandish some fire, just to put him in his place, but if she does, she'll break the darkness and this spell that's fallen over them.

"Oh!" she crosses her arms; without even meaning to, she's half-playing now. "I think I should remind you just who you're talking to."

Then he grins, that crazy roguish grin of his that she loves. "I wish you would, princess. Come here."

Her stomach jumps, heat jolts through her body— but she's not going to be ordered around so easily. She clasps her hands behind her back and smiles sweetly at him.

"I just don't think I will. Princesses don't associate with peasants."

"What?" he shakes his head like he's disappointed in her. "Please. Haven't you heard? I've come up in the world. I'm a _councilman_ now. And the son of a chief," he adds, "although I seem to recall a certain princess saying that that meant next to nothing."

She giggles, and he slides his arms even further into the cell until his forearms are resting on the crossbars. "_Next_ to nothing? How generous."

"Yes, she usually is." He's smirking, and she doesn't even try to stop her robe from gapping as she takes a few steps towards him across the room. Her legs break out in goosebumps in the cool air.

"So, councilman," she says lazily, pulling her hair over one shoulder. "Tell me. How did your Li Wei proposition go?"

"Without a hitch," he says. His voice is playful, but his face is serious. He's completely still, watching her. "Thanks to you."

"You did all the work." She takes another step. She can feel how wet she is with every movement.

"You gave me the ideas," he says. She swears his voice is getting lower. His forearms and hands are completely inside the cell, palms down as he braces his elbows against the door. His posture is casual, but she's not deceived— she knows he's thinking about the location of those hands just as much as she is, because she's never seen Sokka's hands so perfectly still.

"You can only make flour out of acorns if you put them into a good mill."

He laughs. "Is that a compliment? You sound like your uncle."

She wrinkles her nose. "I kind of do, don't I?"

They share another look, another silence. The air is so thick, like you could get shocked if you poked at it.

She takes another step towards him.

"So. What were you afraid Zuko had told me?" he asks, resting his chin on a crossbar. She scowls.

"Why were you not going to come see me?"

"It's your turn to answer a question, princess."

She takes another step towards him. There can't be more than a yard between them now. A few more steps and she'd be in his arms.

"I'm afraid that's classified information, councilman."

"Oh, is it?" he raises an eyebrow. She can see him better now that he's close, see the way the low light shines through his eyes like blue lanterns. That look on his face is going to drive her crazy. "I see."

"I'm glad you understand," she smirks, jutting her hip out. "Your turn to answer a question. Why weren't you going to come?"

She watches as his eyes follow the line of her leg, from her bare foot on the floor to where it disappears into her wrapper. Then he looks up at her, and her stomach jumps again. He's not even trying to hide what he's doing.

"My turn?" he shakes his head slowly. His arms are still stock-still in front of her. "I'm afraid that's classified information, Azula."

She almost breathes his name, then. The way he's talking to her, the way his voice drops when he looks at her, the way his tongue caresses her name… no, he knows exactly what he's doing, and it's making her hotter than she ever knew she could get.

"How convenient," she exhales. "You always were an opportunist."

She takes one last step; she's so close now that her breasts are inches from his hands. Her nipples are hard underneath the cotton, sensitive and straining for contact.

"_Am_, fire lily," he corrects her, and takes a deep, shuddering breath. "_Am._"

And then he reaches out and slowly, so slowly, brushes his knuckles across the bare skin of her upper arm. She inhales sharply, stops breathing— she glances down to where he's touching her and then up to his eyes. He's looking at her, so intently, more serious than she's ever seen him. Amber and blue connect. And still his knuckles are there, rubbing lightly against her skin, back and forth, sending sparks through her body.

She's frozen in his gaze, powerless to tell him to stop— she needs to keep up the act, push him away, but she _can't_, because _it just feels too good._

Slowly, slowly, his other hand comes up and he's caressing both her shoulders now, warm knuckles and the pads of his thumbs skimming over her skin and making her shiver. He's staring at her and her heart is pounding and she's so turned on that she's _aching_ between her legs with how badly she wants to be touched. She's burning, so wet for him that she can feel it starting to drip down the inside of her thighs.

He doesn't stop. He doesn't try to pull her closer, but neither does he stop touching her. His long, strong fingers move from her shoulder to sweep over her collarbone, thumbs pressing lightly where her neck meets her chest. She can almost feel her breasts swell at the nearness of his hands, and it's all she can do not to arch up into them. Still, they don't speak. All there is is the sound of her breathing, light and shallow, and his darker, deeper breaths. The tower groans. As she listens it starts to rain, a few drops bouncing down a wind staircase and then cascading onto the roof like marbles.

They're still staring into each other's eyes, but if it was hard to meet his gaze before, it's nothing compared to now. She can feel the air trembling between them, quivering with overcharge, like a bolt of lightning that needs to be released.

One hand comes to rest on her shoulder, fingers wrapping around her, his rough palm pressing against her skin. Tingling heat blooms through her. She can't help the hitch of her breath, and closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, he's still looking back at her, his eyes burning.

He leans farther through the bars to cup the back of her neck in his other hand, his fingers long enough to curl more than halfway around, and she feels very petite indeed. His thumb begins to trace little circles on her sensitive throat and she sinks her teeth into her lower lip, closing her eyes again and tilting her head back. This is bliss. White-hot tingles are shooting through her body with every light touch, like fire racing to her breasts and between her legs. She can't control the breathy little sigh that escapes her, and it hangs in the air between them as evidence that she's not pushing him away. She'll be damned if she pushes him away— she _wants_ him.

She sees the reaction in his face, and half a second later his hand tightens on her shoulder and he yanks her closer. Before she knows what's happening she's being slammed up against the cold bars and one of his arms is around her, pressing her to him. His other hand moves from her neck to her hair, wrapping tightly into the thick black coils.

She gasps, putting both hands on his chest, ready to push away, but he doesn't let her. His arm is strong around her waist and his hand is tight in her hair, pulling her head back so he can look directly into her face. She fights him, her scalp stinging with pain, but stops when she sees his face— he's deadly serious, almost anguished.

"Do it now."

"What?" she gasps. She can barely think. His body is hot and hard pressed against her, the bars an icy criss-cross between them. "What are you talking about?"

"Do it!" His face flashes with pain. "Go on, tell me."

She gapes at him. He's holding her so closely that her brain seems to have stopped working. "Tell you what?"

"That you don't care about me!" His hand tightens in her hair and she gasps with pain, watches it reflect in his eyes. "Tell me that you've just been using me this whole time, and that you think I'm worthless. Tell me that you've been planning this all along. You need to tell me now, because if you don't…"

"What?" she whispers.

His face twists. "I might just do something unforgivably stupid and kiss you."

At these words, a bolt of pleasure goes straight to her pussy. She struggles a little in his arms, and a pant actually escapes her. "Then that's not much incentive for me to tell you."

She sees confusion flit across his features, and then his jaw sets, his hand tightening in her hair. He's pulling back on it so hard that her neck aches. "I'm serious, Azula. Don't play with me. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you don't care."

They stare at each other. His eyes are overbright, as shockingly blue as the winter sky.

"No," she whispers. "I can't."

He frowns at her. His arm is a vice around her waist, crushing her against the cell door. "What?"

"I won't," she says then, as defiant as she is breathless. "Don't tell me what to do, Sokka."

"Agni almighty," he breathes, lifting his eyes to heaven. "Please, please, have mercy on me…"

She can see the raw pain in his face, and, strangely, she wants to end it. She's _going_ to end it, no matter what it costs her. She doesn't struggle, now, as he holds her through the cell. She just gazes up at him. _No more lies._

"You woke me up."

He looks back down at her. She lifts one hand from her side and places it on his bare chest, where his shirt has pulled open. The skin under her hand is warm and smooth, and just as wonderful as she's always imagined.

"You pulled me out of a nightmare," she murmurs. "Tonight… and months ago."

He's staring at her like he can't believe what he's hearing. "You— "

"I'm not lying, Sokka." She skims her hand from his chest to his cheek, her fingers cautious, curious, and there's no hiding the surge of his body against hers. "I've lied about a lot of things. But not this."

Thunder booms overhead as he stares at her, and his fist releases her hair. She can hear the rain coming down, sheets of water pounding against the stones outside.

"But I— "

"I care," she whispers. He doesn't need to hold her against him— she's pressing there herself, desperate for him. "I care more about you than I've ever cared about anyone and if you don't kiss me right this second I might just have to kill you."

He stares at her for a moment, disbelieving, and she stares back, breathless and defiant and declared. And then, slowly, the agony in his face melts into something else.

"Well, then that's not much incentive for me to die."

His eyes have hardened and his face has opened, painted with that look that she's never been able to read before. Only now, she knows what it is.

It's desire.

His hands unclench, and slowly, slowly, run up her bare arms until he's cupping her face. Her legs feel weak underneath her— she's sure that she's stopped breathing entirely. He pulls her closer and closer until their noses touch, and still they haven't closed their eyes. They stare at each other through the bars, completely still. There's a ghost of a smile on his lips and she can't believe how close they are, so close that every inch of her zings with the heat of him. She could count the sun-freckles across his nose.

He exhales, deep enough that she could drown in it, and at last, closes his eyes and closes the distance between them. Their lips touch gently, his mouth hot and soft as it brushes against hers, so slow and light. She breathes him in like she's starving for it. Heat is racing across her skin, spider-webbing through her nerve endings and awakening a deep hunger, so strong that she gasps against his mouth. He pulls back for a moment and then comes forward again, pressing his lips against hers more firmly. His arms travel, threading back and forth through the bars, one wrapping around her shoulders and one around her waist to pull her closer to him. He's so warm, every inch of him, and she can feel his heavy hardness against her thigh. She's never felt anything like it before, but it doesn't scare her; it turns her on more, makes her wound-up body jump against his.

His lips drag against hers as he releases her again, and she almost whimpers. She can feel the restraint in his muscles— she knows that he's holding back. He's savoring this, savoring _her_.

The bars are an impediment— he can't reach the curve of her neck, so he bends his head and kisses her throat instead, fisting her hair again. She's mindless to the press of her chin against the door. The sensations of him are so much stronger, bolts of electricity shocking through her everywhere he's touching her. His lips are hot on her throat, dragging across her skin, open-mouthed so she can feel his breath. The soft flick of his tongue makes her body jump again, and she _whines_.

"Do you want me, princess?"

His voice is low and rough in that way that drives her crazy, vibrating straight to her pussy. She's robbed of words and he kisses her on the mouth again, hard this time. When he pulls back, his bright eyes burn right into her.

"Do you?" he asks. His hands are hard now, too, crushing her against the bars. "Say it. Tell me."

"I do," she gasps out. Her pussy is throbbing. "I want you."

"Mmm…" he rumbles deep in his chest. "I want you, too."

Warmth explodes in her stomach even as he pulls her back to him. He's rougher when their lips meet this time, and it's not long before the tip of his tongue is against her bottom lip. Cautiously, curiously, she opens up to him.

She's never been kissed like this before. His tongue sweeps across hers, then stills, tasting her, and she does her best to respond in kind. He explores her with his mouth, flicking and sliding his tongue against hers, rhythmically returning to kiss her lips as they breathe. They can't move their heads back and forth very well through the cell bars so they make up for it through movement of mouth; he talks to her through his kisses, telling her with his lips how much he wants her, until she feels like her heart is going to pound right through her ribs.

She wants to feel his lips everywhere, and when she turns her head to shove her neck right up against the bars he takes advantage of it, breathing on her exposed skin before pressing his lips against it.

"_Uhhhnnn_, yes..."

She would be embarrassed at this breathy little moan if there was space left in her head for it. He responds to her sounds, sucking harder at her tender skin until she gasps out loud, a tingle sweeping through her. Then he releases her, letting his teeth graze across the bruised flesh until she sighs, deep in the back of her throat.

She's so wet now that she's dripping in earnest, hot and slick, down the inside of her thighs. She can't help it. It's like every feeling she's always blocked and every desire she's always quashed have somehow come to the surface simultaneously, overwhelming her. She wants him so much that her core is searing with heat,, hungering for him, clenching for him.

When he drops to his knees in front of her, she stares down at him. His arms weave through the bars, his hands going to rest on her bare ankles. He looks up at her, holding her legs there, so vulnerable and fearless and beautiful that she feels her heart stand still. His full lips are wet and swollen from kissing her.

"Such a beautiful woman…" he pushes aside the fold of her robe just enough to bare her shin, and runs his hand up it. "And to think, I'm going to get to know every inch of her."

She squirms at his words, at the fresh shivers this touch sends crashing over her. "Sokka…"

"Hmm… yeah." He tugs her foot towards him, braces the arch of it on his knee. "Keep saying it."

He kisses the inside of her calf, and she grips the bars above him. When he looks up at her again, he lifts his large hands and undoes one of the clasps at the hem of her robe.

Her breathing hitches. He's gazing up at her from the ground, waiting. When she doesn't protest, only pushes her hips closer to the bars, he undoes another. Her breath begins to come unevenly, and she finds herself unable to control it. She's not wearing anything else at all, and he's _there_, just there, his beautiful blue eyes level with where her pussy is throbbing for him underneath her clothes…

She becomes aware that as he's caressing and kissing her legs, he's talking. That mouth of his that never shuts up, that seems to _exist_ to antagonize her, and now…

"Put your foot in my hand… yeah… Gods, your skin…" Another clasp undone, another brush of his lips. "Sweet as cream."

She's trembling, her nightgown undone to the thigh, and wound up so tightly that she doesn't trust herself to speak. Instead, she reaches out to fulfill a fantasy, and sinks her hands into his long hair. It's soft and dark and incredibly thick, and she tugs at it hungrily. He laughs, a deep rumble from the back of his throat.

"You like that, princess? Should we see how hard I can get you to pull it?"

She groans, another bolt of heat striking through her center. "You smartass…"

He doesn't deny it, and instead bends his head to the inside of her thigh to give her a warm, pressing kiss. He ends it on a short little drag towards her pussy, making her bite her lip. She's never felt herself throb like this, ever.

He's being agonizing, and she can't wait for him. When she undoes the first clasp at her neck, he tilts his chin up to look at her. His hands stay busy, his thumbs tracing slow circles inside her thighs. She undoes the second, then the third, and she can _see_ in his blue eyes how much he wants her. The old familiar feeling of power floods her, but it's colored differently now.

The three clasps that remain between her and complete nakedness feel flimsy indeed compared to the heavy air between them. His hands still. Their eyes meet. Then he gives her that look, that filthy, possessive look, and she knows that her days of having no weak points are over.

When her robe falls open his eyes widen, then close, then open again, and he _groans_.

"_Azula_…"

She can see where his blue eyes are fixed, staring intently at her glistening pussy in the low light. She's soaked and swollen, so wet that some of it's stringing between her thighs. It's all the evidence he needs to know how turned on she's been for him this entire time. As she watches, his gaze flicks up to her breasts, small and high, her nipples flushed a deep pink and tightened with arousal. He sighs— or growls, she can't tell which— way deep in the back of his throat, and his warm hands come around her bare waist. She feels tiny, feminine. The cold of the cell makes her nipples harden even further as he pulls her against it, positioning her. One hand moves to the back of her knee, bending and supporting it so her inner thigh is flat against the bars, drawing her pussy right up to the gap.

He's still on his knees, his cheek against her inner thigh, and his mouth is so close now that she can feel his breath, warm on her swollen lips, making her quiver. He won't take his eyes from between her legs and she squirms against the door, so desperate for his touch that she might just combust.

"Sokka…"

"So wet for me," he says wonderingly, and his stubble rasps against her skin as he slides his cheek against her thigh. "Gods, I've got to be fucking dreaming."

She moans then, desperation and arousal threatening to undo her completely. He gets that look on his face again, and then… and then…

"_Ohhh_…"

His tongue, warm and wet, touches her. He shifts closer, his hands pulling her forward, and licks lightly up her center before pressing his tongue flatly against her, dragging her lips apart and grazing her clit. She jumps, gasps, and he does it again, sending a hot wave crashing through her. He's collecting so much of her wetness on his tongue, and as she watches he pulls back slightly, closing his eyes before swallowing.

"Mmm… you taste so good."

She blushes violently even as he returns to her pussy, licking up her folds until the tip of his tongue finds her clit. She gasps again, hips slamming against the bars as she grips them.

"_Fuck_…"

Using just the end of it, he circles carefully around her clit and then over it in slow, diagonal strokes. Her head buzzes and sparkles with pleasure, and when she looks down at him, it's the most erotic thing she's ever seen— the way his mouth is attached to her, kissing and licking her while he's on his knees. He glances up at her, blue eyes blazing, and increases the pressure of his tongue. The diagonal strokes change to long, firm ones from the base of her clit, and she _moans_.

"_Unh_, fuck, _Sokka_…"

Her hands go from the bars to his hair, burying her fingers in it as he speeds up. She's shivering with every stroke, heat coiling around her feet all the way up to her abdomen. There's an ache inside of her, growing and growing, an _emptiness_ that craves to be filled. When his tongue begins to swirl in circles, sweeping hard over both her clit and her hood, she actually bucks her hips against the bars and yelps, a sharp sound that echoes away into the tower. Her fists clench in his hair and he doubles down his effort, sucking in little pulses as he circles with his tongue. With each firm swipe of his tongue comes the light pull of his lips, and she can feel herself swelling, liquid heat pooling in her lower back and the soles of her feet. A tightness cinches in her belly and she moans, feeling more wetness spilling out of her as she clenches under his mouth.

Her legs are shaking now, and she has to move one hand from his hair to the bars to hold herself up. He's helping, supporting her knee and gripping her hip. He maintains his pattern, steadily surrounding her clit with warm wetness, and she gasps when she feels the touch of his finger at her entrance. He touches her lightly, running the pad of his finger up the inside of her lips. When he lowers it to press softly at her slick entrance and flicks his tongue _hard_ over her clit, she can actually feel her eyes roll back in her head.

"_Ahhh_...oh, gods, oh…"

Her body is grasping, trying desperately to pull him inside. The ache inside of her begs to be pressed, throbs to be touched. He redoubles the swirling strokes with his tongue, sharpening the pleasure deep inside of her, and when she feels his finger pushing into her, warm and wet, she pulls his hair so hard she's surprised that he doesn't stop.

"_Oh!_"

Her surroundings are beginning to blur, her head growing fuzzy. The shaking is getting worse and when he curls his finger inside of her as he sucks at her clit, she sees starbursts.

"_Fuck! Fuck_, fuck.."

The heat inside of her is expanding and coiling. His fingers move again, circling and exploring, and then press deep against her front wall with three hard pulses. It's too much.

"_Fuck, Sokka_!"

The heat in her stomach collapses and explodes, and she comes hard with a strangled moan of his name, soaking his face and his fingers. Rush after rush of white-hot tingles are sweeping out from her center to her very fingertips. He pulls his finger out of her with another spill of wetness and does his best to lick it all up, from his hand to her lips to her thighs. Her entire body is trembling and she becomes aware that there's sweat running down between her breasts, her chest heaving. He's breathing hard too, when he pulls off of her and looks up at her with his gorgeous dark face covered in her juices. She nearly groans aloud again.

"Agni almighty…"

"That's the sweetest thing in the world," he says. "You're spoiling me."

She can't respond, doesn't trust herself to form words, and they both breathe hard for a moment. Her knees feel like they're made of water. The fractured pieces of her orgasm are still hot in her belly when he leans forward again, searching for her swollen clit with the very tip of his tongue. Her body jumps violently against him, oversensitive, but his arm tightens around her hips, pressing her against the bars.

"Let's see if you can give me one more…"

She groans, deep in the back of her throat, even as his light flicks and strokes begin to awaken something in her. "I can't…"

"You can," he mumbles against her body. The warm, wet softness of his tongue circles her clit gently, opening her up, and the floor of her first climax falls away to something darker and deeper. She goes rigid against the door and he hoists her knee higher, pressing his face as far between the bars as he can.

"_Oh_…"

The sharpness of the stimulation dissolves to a penetrating kind of pleasure, driving deep within her and making her gasp. He shifts,, and his mouth pulls off of her in a rush of wetness. She almost protests, but then she feels him again— the soft, warm tip of his tongue, pressing against her opening.

"Sokka…" she gasps, and looks down at him with wide eyes. His own eyes are closed as he drinks her in, his nose pressing at the base of her clit. He hums, a low vibrating moan of his own, and then his hand is at her swollen bud. Two warm fingers brush the side, sending hot tremors through her, and then he's circling it, gliding his wet fingers against it as he slides his tongue in and out of her. She's half-conscious of grinding her hips against his face, desperate for the release of this new, powerful thing he's awakened in her.

"Unhhhh, _please_…"

She's barely aware of what she's saying or the sounds she's making anymore— her head is filling with white sparkles, and there's a roaring in her ears. The feeling of his tongue fucking her, hot and wet as he licks in and out of her, is driving her crazy; pointed pleasure is rising again with every circle of his fingers. She's gasping, moaning, her mouth open and her hips jerking against the bars. It's all gathering much faster this time, the broken remains of her first orgasm whirling up into the vortex. There's no stopping it. She can hear the wet, messy sounds his mouth is making against her with every plunge of his tongue. Through half-slitted eyes she sees how slick his handsome face is with her arousal, and his nose presses harder against her clit as he tries to taste her even deeper.

"_Uhnnn, _fuck_… FUCK…_"

He buries his tongue inside of her again and presses two fingers above and below her clit, rubbing back and forth with short, fast strokes. Her breathing hitches, strangles, everything inside of her coiled, waiting. One, two, three more, and then he's rubbing lightly over the top as he licks her, his fingers grazing her trembling nerves and releasing in a twist.

"_FUCK!_"

Her hips _slam_ against the bars and she comes around his tongue with a scream, the tornado in her head exploding. Her body clenches and her knees collapse completely— he catches her as best he can through the door, hooking his wrists beneath her underarms. Her head lolls and her body trembles, wave after wave of tingling, searing heat crashing through her. Every heartbeat is a sweeping crest of pleasure straight to the very core of her. He presses against the door, holding her as closely as he can, and she gasps and pants against his shoulder. The cold metal bar presses into her cheek but her mind is clouded, everything simultaneously dark and highly-colored.

"Great job, angel, you did it… that's it… breathe..."

She clings to his shoulders through the bars and tries to obey, her lungs burning. Her entire body seems to be pulsing, thrumming with heat. She pulls in great draughts of air, and slowly, gradually, the sound turns back up— the pounding of rain outside once again fills her ears, and the crack of thunder vibrates the prison walls. Her vision clears, comes back into focus. Sokka's arms are strong, holding her upright, his body burning against her. She shifts in his embrace and the hard planes of his body slide against hers, making them both shiver.

"I could kiss you all day long," he mutters to her, grinning. "On either set of lips."

"Gods, shut _up_," she murmurs back, shifting slightly. She feels the slickness between her thighs when she moves, the way her pussy is still throbbing. "Do you ever stop talking?"

"Only when I'm using my mouth for better things."

She licks her lower lip and puts her arms around his neck, tilting her chin up to look at him. He's tried to wipe his face off on his sleeve, to no avail— his jaw and lips are still shining with her, and the sight sends a fresh jolt of pleasure between her legs. She knows that as long as she lives, she'll never forget how he looked in front of her. Down on his knees, his mouth between her thighs, his erection straining as he licked and tasted her…

She lets out a breathy sigh at the thought, and his arms tighten around her.

"Just what's on your mind, princess?"

She meets his eyes, and they devour her. Some of the feeling has come back to her legs and she uses it to press against the bars as hard as she can, seeking him. Their hips press together through the gap and she sighs again, low and fluttering. He's hot and hard against her body, and it fills her with want.

His breathing quickens, his eyes closing for a second. When he opens them again, his desire for her burns blue.

"Is that what's on your mind?" he asks her, voice low. His arms are tight around her and when he rolls his hips against hers, she _shudders_. He gets that look on his face again and reaches down, palming her knee again to spread her legs. He holds her there for a moment, and she tilts her head to the side, breathless. The linen of his shorts brushes hard against her swollen pussy, and she knows that her juices must be smearing all over his front. When he thrusts against her again, his clothed erection pressing at her dripping entrance, she can feel her entire body clench for him.

"_Unhhh_... "

It's a needy sound, wavering with the desire that's burning through her body. He rolls against her again, so close to where she wants him, but much too far. They both moan now, and the sound flies away into the rain. She's never had anyone like this, never _wanted_ anyone like this. Her hand moves to his hair— when they kiss, she feels him grow even larger. She gasps and the kiss deepens, his tongue sliding across hers. He feels so thick and long against her now that she thinks maybe she should be afraid, but all she feels is want. She wants to be filled by him, wants to feel every inch of him pushing inside of her. The kiss turns sloppy, both of them open-mouthed and breathing hard as he grinds against her.

"Fuck," he gasps against her lips. "You're going to be the death of me."

"Just what's on your mind, councilman?" she pants, her hands in his hair. "Tell me."

He groans, bucking into her as she tugs his head back. Not being able to wrap her legs around him is driving her crazy, and when she pulls his throat against the bars she feels the air go out of him. His skin is dark and warm and she kisses and licks, bites and tastes.

"Unh… fuck," he grits out. "You really want to know, fire lily?"

"Desperately." She circles her hips into his, grinding her bare pussy against his hardness. "Tell me— that's an order."

"Fuck," he whispers, almost feverishly, his eyes tracing her body. He looks between them, where the front of his shorts have become wet with her arousal, and then back up to her breasts. She's never been _looked_ at like this— like she's the most beautiful thing in the world. "You're on my mind. This magnificent little body of yours, and your beautiful white skin. Your lips."

His hands go to her hips, gripping her, and he starts to rock against her in a way that makes her gasp. "I'm thinking about those noises you make. The look on your face when you come. Your perfect pussy, how sweet you taste..."

He's already back in control somehow, but she doesn't even care. She's breathless again, hands grasping at his hair, mindless to everything but his words and the feel of him between her legs.

"Most of all," he whispers, his lips brushing her ear, "I'm thinking about how wet you are for me, and how hard I am for you… I'm thinking about how much I want to be deep inside of you, and make love to you until you scream." He kisses her ear, grazes her earlobe with his teeth. "What do you think of that, princess?"

She's powerless to form words in response— her bones have turned to jelly. Instead, she mewls, a shamelessly needy sound; she's past the point of considering anything except the ache he's awakened in her, and the deep, driving need to feel him pressed hard against it.

When he pulls away, she steps back automatically. In one motion, he draws the club and swings it— the sharp metal _CLANG!_ is muffled by the thunder. She backs up a step further, her legs wobbling underneath her, and he swings again._ CLAAANG!_

Her robe falls from her shoulders and she lets it — she has no secrets from him anymore. The club falls one, two, three more times, and the heavy padlock ricochets off the opposite wall. With a heavy _creeeaaak!_, the cell door swings open.

She backs up until her calves hit the bed. Sokka drops the weapon where he stands, and steps inside.

He walks towards her with the silent, steady steps of a hunter; she thinks, for one wild second, of the ocean and its inevitable crash on the beach. When he reaches her, much too quickly but not quickly enough, his hand comes up to cup her jaw. His fingers are light, and his eyes blaze. Every one of her nerve endings is singing. He holds her there, looking down at her. He's waiting.

And she moves. Her hands go to his shoulders, fisting and ripping his shirt— buttons fly everywhere, pinging off of the stone floor. He's _here_, against her, with no bars between them, and she's drunk with relief and desire. He's real. _She's_ still real.

The air between them tightens and whirls and her hands are everywhere. He's the water sizzling on her stove— she burns and burns for him, but she can't seem to get enough. He's keeping himself in check, just barely, she can tell. She's got no such restrictions. His shirt comes off and then they're rolling around on her narrow bed. First she's on top, then he is, and then she is again, and her blood is pumping will the thrill of a good fight.

She pins him, her thighs flexing, and he looks up at her, breathing hard. It makes her skin tingle all over.

"Aren't you just gorgeous," she purrs, smoothing her hair back. "Found yourself taken prisoner?"

She grinds down against him, rubbing her wetness all over the hard length in his shorts, and he groans. His head tips back, eyes closing.

"Don't tempt me into taking advantage of the situation."

Her hand slides between them, palming him through his shorts, and his breath hitches. His eyes shine with a mad light, blue fire just barely contained. And, she realizes, she wants to see it burn. She wants to see how hard she'll have to press to break him.

When she gives him a squeeze, he moans deep in the back of his throat. His hands tighten on her hips painfully, and his breath comes in pants. Another squeeze and his hand is yanking her hair, and she's ripping his shorts off, too.

His hard cock springs against his stomach, and she squirms on top of him, feeling herself leak even more. She's never seen a man like this before, but she knows enough to know he's gorgeous— dark and thick and long, with a clear bead of wetness gathering at his head. She reaches out and swipes it up with her finger; he shudders like she's gotten a fist around his soul. When she licks it up, he grips her so hard that she knows it'll leave bruises.

"You taste good," she breathes. "Sweet and salty."

"_Fuck_…" he groans. "Please, Azula…"

She doesn't even have it in her to tease him for begging. She wants him just as badly.

Instinct takes over lack of experience, and she positions herself above him. One hand goes around the base of him, and then their bodies are lined up.

"Is this right?" she whispers.

"Perfect," he grits out. "Just lower down when you're ready."

Their eyes meet. She feels the thickness of him, the smooth heat. And she knows suddenly that really, she lost this game a long time ago.

She slides down, and his head presses into her. They both gasp in a breath— she doesn't stop. She gropes for his hand, and his calloused fingers lace through hers, steadying her. She feels her body stretch around his thickness, feels the sting of pain and primal curl of pleasure. She watches as his head tips back, lips parting around a strangled sigh.

"Fuck, you feel amazing…"

She can't answer— her heart is beating so hard she can feel it in her throat. The pain and the pleasure and the novelty and the lust churn inside of her until she's sure she's going to explode, and still he keeps coming, inch after inch, pushing into her and opening her up.

When he bottoms out, they both gasp. She's stinging. She can feel how big he is, rock-hard and hot inside of her. His pelvis presses against hers— his other hand finds hers.

"Are you okay?" he whispers. "Hurt?"

"A little," she gasps back. She knows she's squeezing the life out of his fingers. "Just need a second."

They're still; he's trembling.

She moves again. With the help of his hands, she lifts herself up and lowers back down, pushing him into her, sending exquisite pleasure and pain rocketing through her whole body. It feels like scalding water is trickling all over her skin.

"_Sokka_…"

"Azula," he murmurs. "Azula."

It seems like a far-away world indeed in which she told him not to say her name. She wants to hear it from his lips forever.

His hands guide her, help her— a few more thrusts, and he shows her how to rock against him. She lets her body stretch, accommodating this new invasion. The movement is gentle at first, and she's so wet that it drips down onto him. The soft rocks become a glide.

"Fuck, you're tight," he whispers, leaning back. "It feels so good to be inside of you."

She clenches involuntarily, and he grunts. Encouraged, she comes down on him a little harder, and the air flies out of her— he hit it that time, that spot deep inside of her. It's such a surprise, such an unexpected bolt of pleasure, that she yelps.

"_Oh!_"

"Do it again," he whispers to her.

She does.

"_Oh…_ yes…"

His hands are on her hips again, adjusting her angle, tilting her back. When she moves again he helps, snapping at the end of the thrust, and she bucks.

"_Sokka!_"

That's what she wants, what she's been waiting for. Dark waves of pleasure shoot out from her center. Her ears are ringing.

He starts to help her with the rhythm, thrusting up at the end of her strokes, quickening her pace. She's adjusted to him now, and the pain is no more than a dull ache. He's finding that spot inside of her, over and over, and her breath is coming in pants. Her whole body is quivering.

"Do you like that?" he growls to her, and her skin breaks out in shivers. "Taking me deep inside of you?"

"Yes," she gasps, and she hardly knows what she's saying now. "Fuck, yes!"

"You look so beautiful on top of me," he says. "Blushing and gasping for me."

"Fuck you," she grits out, because her teeth are buzzing and her ears are popping and she just can't take it. "Fuck you!"

He laughs, low in his throat, and jerks up into her even harder. "That's it, yell at me. Tell me what you think of me, princess!"

She's falling apart on top of him and he's grabbed both of her hips to keep her upright, thrusting up into her mercilessly. "I said, fuck you!" she gasps. "Fuck you, you stubborn, good-for-nothing, Water Tribe savage!"

"That's more like it," he says, and then he's on top of her, pushing her knees back against her chest. He doesn't give her time to adjust. He thrusts back in right away, and a whole new spectrum of sensation flares deep in her stomach.

"_Fuck!_"

He doesn't slow down, doesn't relent— he's slamming into her now, pounding against her front wall with every thrust. The further he pushes her legs back the more squarely he hits that spot, and she knows that she's crying out with every snap of his hips. White-hot magma is spreading through her womb and lower back, and when his thumb rubs against her clit, she feels as though she'll snap in half.

"_Sokka!_ Fu— _Sokka!_"

He scoops up her wrists with one hand and pins them above her head, circling down firmly with the other. Each rotation on her clit is a ringing, shining circle of pleasure behind her eyes. He's merciless, the thick head of his cock battering her from the inside. She hates it and she hates him and she loves it and she loves him, and she wants to take him inside of her until she shatters into a million pieces.

"Take it," he gasps out. "Take it, you beautiful, arrogant— you—"

She can barely breathe and she's fighting him now, but he's strong. Even out of breath, he's keeping her hands down. His thumb changes to quick strokes over the top of her clit, and she stops breathing. Every thrust is harder than the one before, driving into the very heart of her, splitting her open.

"Stop, I— I—"

She gasps, swallowing air, and her body squeezes so hard around him that he lets go of her.

"Fuck!"

Her hands beat at him; her nails rake down his back, breaking skin, and her spine arches into his body. His breathing falters, his eyes slam shut, and he gives her clit one more twist before slamming into her up to the hilt. Her hands clench and then splay, and she _screams_.

It's an explosion. Oxygen rips into her lungs, the stars behind her eyes implode, and her legs melt around him. Colors pulse against her eyelids, white-hot waves of pleasure drowning every cell in her body. The spasms go on and on, and she feels how hard she's shaking— her womb is burning, the soles of her feet tingling like mint ice. All she can do is grip his hand and ride out the tsunami.

It takes them a long time to come back down to earth. The first thing she becomes conscious of again is the rain— its pattering against the tower roof works its way into her ears, cooling her. The second thing that registers is the warmth of Sokka's arms, hard and strong around her. The sound of water settles softly over them both.

"I take it back."

"Hmm?" he lifts his head to look at her. "Take what back?"

He's a mess. His shirt is ruined, his shorts are covered in his come, and his hair looks like he just sprinted through a thunderstorm. His lips are bruised, and she can see a thin line of blood trickling over his shoulder— she wipes it away with her thumb.

"It turns out you _are_ good for something."

This time when he laughs, she can feel his entire body shake with it. "Hey, I've been trying to tell you for months."

She smiles and noses into his shoulder, breathing in his scent. He smells like the sea. They're quiet for what feels like hours, although it might be only minutes.

"I guess we weren't very quiet."

"No?" He wrinkles his nose. "Well, we could do it again, I guess. There might be some villagers in Shu-Jing that didn't hear us."

"Stop it!" she blushes, and swats him. He catches her wrist and grins at her mischievously.

"What? Not worried about the guards, are you?"

"Of course I am," she snaps, struggling to get out of his grasp. "But you should be more worried, if they go running back to my brother."

Sokka laughs again and enfolds her into his arms, ignoring her pointless resistance. "I'm not worried. I knocked them both out two hours ago when they wouldn't let me in."

"You _what?_" she twists over her shoulder to gape at him. "You just left them out in the rain?"

"I dragged them under the overhang," he says indignantly. "Gods, I'm not completely heartless."

They're silent for just a second, and then she starts to laugh. He's spooning her, and her back shakes against his stomach until there are tears rolling down her cheeks. He's bewildered at first, but the absurdity of it all catches up with him too, and they both laugh until they're exhausted and gasping for breath.

"I love your laugh," she hiccups. "It was one of the first things I noticed about you."

"Oh yeah?" He settles in closer against her, wiping his streaming eyes. "What was the very first?"

"The first?" She thinks. "Your terrible attitude. Oh, and your blue eyes."

"You're sweet, fire lily."

There's more comfortable silence between them. His thumb traces shapes on the back of her hand. They drift somewhere between sleep and waking. Years, or perhaps seconds later, his voice stirs her.

"It's going to be morning soon," he whispers. "The ferry leaves early today. Do you want me to stay the month?"

She takes a moment to answer. She can't remember the last time she felt this content, and her brain feels like it's moving through cold honey.

"No," she whispers. "It's okay."

"Are you sure?" He presses a kiss below her ear. "I can, if you want me to."

"It's alright," she murmurs. "You have duties elsewhere. You need to attend to them."

"Spoken like a true member of the royal family."

"You know it's true."

"I do," he agrees. "And I love that you know it, too."

They're quiet for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of being so close. Rain is still drumming on the roof.

"Things will be different," she tells him. "Things will be different, the next time you come."

"Oh?" he raises an eyebrow. "Says who?"

"Says me," she says defiantly.

"Princess," he yawns, leaning back to stretch, "that's all the reassurance I need."

For once, when he leaves, she doesn't spend the day doubting that he'll ever come back, or dreading the next month of loneliness. Instead, she gulps down water from her basin until she's full, and then washes her face, hands, and thighs. She's going to be sore for days, and she can see each round bruise where his fingers dug into her. She touches them gingerly. They're the dark blue of a summer thunderstorm.

When the guard finally brings breakfast, she's fully dressed and leaning against the cell door, shooting sparklers from her fingers. He draws up short at the sight of her.

"Princess Azula."

"Hello," she says coolly. "I'll take that."

She reaches out for the plate, which he sets in her hands as though they're land mines. The man is plainly alarmed to see her this spry and lucid.

"I have a request, soldier."

"A request?" he sputters. "Well, I— er—"

"Tell my brother that I want to see him." She uncovers the rice and takes a bite— she's starving. "We've got some things to discuss."

-o-

Pelicangulls wheel through the air, soaring on the wind and cawing gleefully to each other. Far below, the ocean shimmers in the heat, its rough chop sending salt spray up over the island. The sky is cloudless and blue, as vivid as dye.

"Stop fussing with that!" Zuko hisses. "You're going to crumple the silk!"

"Easy for you to say," she hisses back. "You get to wear armor!"

They're standing under the royal tent, both of them sweating slightly in the June sun. In a different lifetime she would have complained, but now, sweating under the summer sun seems like the most precious gift in the world. She could do without the ankle-length ambassador's robes, though. She picks at the gold thread, ignoring Zuko's pointed eye-roll. _He's_ wearing a tunic under his breastplate. He doesn't get to complain.

The ranks of the amphitheater are filling in around them. She knows that she's attracting more than her fair share of stares, but she studiously ignores them. She doesn't care about these old fuddy-duddies of Zuko's court, anyway. She only has eyes for one councilman today.

"Where is he?" she mutters to her brother. "What if he's not coming?"

"Of course he's coming," Zuko says impatiently. "He's required by law to be here today. Quit fretting."

"I can't help it." She tries to look out over the crowd without craning her neck. "And don't talk to me like that."

Zuko squints into the sky, like he's wondering why Agni saddled him with such constant aggravation. "You know, for such a deadly person, you sure worry a lot."

She slants her eyes at him, then gives the back of his arm a stealthy, but stinging, pinch.

"_Ouch!_" he yelps. "I don't deserve this!"

Luckily, a colony representative engages his attention before he can retaliate, and she's left to her own devices again. She looks out towards the horizon and tries to force herself to breathe. The sky is so blue that it almost hurts her eyes. In the distance, the ocean glitters like a million diamonds, the breeze ruffling up whitecaps.

"Councilman Fu, my sister, Princess Azula. She's been pardoned and has been helping me with military reform."

"Indeed!" The old man's eyes widen behind his pince-nez. "Oh, indeed!"

She smiles coldly.

"Indeed, indeed," Councilman Fu says again, flustered. "Well— welcome back, I suppose, er, Princess. If you'll excuse me—"

And he rushes off into the crowd.

"If you could try to look less like a pricklesnake when I introduce you— that'd be good," Zuko mutters.

"_Introduce me_," she scoffs. "It's not like they don't already know who I am."

"I'm introducing the _new_ you," Zuko corrects, talking out of the corner of his mouth as he waves across the crowd. "The stable, helpful you. So it wouldn't kill you to crack a genuine smile, would it?"

"You can't seriously expect me to take lessons in cheerfulness from you, Zuko."

He grunts in frustration. "Could you stop making me more anxious than I already am?"

When she doesn't answer, he peeks over his shoulder at her.

"Azula?"

But she doesn't answer— she's seen him. He's walking up the steps from the harbor, deep in conversation. His companion says something, and Sokka throws back his head and laughs. His hair is reflecting dark red and coffee in the bright sunlight.

Her heart starts beating so fast that it's painful, and she digs her nails into her palms. He hasn't seen her, but as soon as he looks up at Zuko, he'll know. Will he be pleased? Angry? Confused? Alarmed? She can't be sure. She doesn't know. All she can do is stand there and wait for him to notice. He's moving easily through the crowd, grinning at everyone, endearing himself everywhere. Her heart gives a little squeeze, and when he starts laughing again, she sighs. She feels Zuko turn his head to look at her, but she doesn't look back. She's got bigger things to worry about.

Sokka turns, still chucking, his gaze skimming up and over the crowd. Her heart stutters. When their eyes meet mid-laugh, the grin drops off his face and he freezes in his tracks. She can feel every molecule inside of her trembling, and she knows she's drawn blood with her nails.

He's still, staring up at her, seemingly unable to move. She watches, breathless, as his eyes shift to Zuko. The Fire Lord lifts a hand and beckons him forward.

Sokka walks towards them as though in a dream; his hand rests limply on his sword, and his gaze falls back to her, traveling over every line. He moves through the crowd now without even noticing where he's going, and she can't ignore the thrill of pride that shoots through her— he's grown so tall now that people just move out of his way without question.

It seems as though he'll never reach them. When he finally does, she can't remember why she liked the way he looked in the dark. He's wonderful like this, in the bright sunlight, his eyes flashing and his dark skin shining gold.

For the first time she can ever remember, Sokka is speechless. He simply looks up at her, like he's wondering if she's a mirage. Her heart is flinging itself against her ribs in a desperate attempt to escape.

"Councilman," Zuko says, bowing very seriously. "I'm pleased to present my newly-pardoned sister, Princess Azula."

Sokka opens his mouth and then shuts it, still looking up at her silently. His eyes are the exact blue of the sky behind him.

He glances at Zuko, who's now trying to blend in with the tent, and then back to her. She smiles cautiously, nervously, and he closes his eyes and shakes his head hard, like he's trying to clear it. When he looks up again, she's still there. She can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.

"Sweet robes," he says hoarsely, lifting a hand to point. "When do I get some of those?"

She glances at Zuko, not knowing what to think, and finds him smiling. Everything seems so sharp and patently real: the chatter of the crowd around them, the screaming of the gulls, the crash of the waves on the rocks below. When she turns back to Sokka, his hand is lifted towards her, palm-up. His eyes are gleaming.

"Councilman," Zuko murmurs from his tent corner. "The June summit is important— but some meetings matter more. I've got a new assignment to discuss with you, so be back in two hours." He glances between the pair of them, nearly devilish with matchmaking glee. "That is, if you can manage it."

They go down the stairs to the coast, at first hardly daring to speak, and then tripping over each other trying to get the words out. He won't let go of her hand, and she doesn't want him to. She's never held hands with anyone just to walk, and the solid feeling of his fingers laced with hers is surprisingly nice.

"Of course, I knew you were planning something," he's saying, grinning at her. "But I didn't think even you could manage something like _this_."

"Please," she scoffs. "You've clearly got me underestimated."

He raises his eyebrows. "Well, I don't know how much higher I can estimate you."

She feels herself blush, and doesn't even try to hide it. Instead, she smiles up at him gratefully. It's a new feeling, this: gratitude. But then again, her life has been full of new feelings recently.

He smiles back, and they're quiet for a moment.

"I missed you."

"You did?" she asks, surprised and tender. "Really?"

"Really," he answers, and drops a kiss on her cheek. "Who else is going to listen to me run my mouth about the rigors of politics?"

She frowns, tapping her chin. "Well, now I'm not trapped and choiceless anymore, so no promises."

"Oh please," he laughs. "Don't even try to pretend like you don't love it. You've probably got some fresh new talks on unilateral cooperation you're dying to give me."

"And you'll get all excited over it, you dope."

"Obviously."

When they reach the beach, he plops down onto a piece of driftwood to pull off his boots, and she toes off her slippers. The roar of the waves crashing is loud around them, and gulls flutter closer to get a good look at them. Far above them, from the amphitheater on the plateau, they can hear Zuko calling the summit to order.

"So how are you feeling?" Sokka asks, pulling her to her feet. The warm sand feels amazing between her toes, and she makes an effort to dig them in as they start to walk.

"Okay. Better."

"They treat you okay at the clinic?"

"Yes," she says grudgingly, and finds his hand again. "I'm glad Zuko's not making me go every day anymore, though."

"How often is it now?"

"Every weekend, but he says I'll still have to correspond with the head therapist once I leave."

"Well, that's alright," Sokka says reasonably. "As long as you're making progress."

"Hey, if this is what it takes to keep me out of prison, then I guess I'm all for it."

"Me too," he agrees. "It's helping, though?"

"Yes," she admits. "It is. No more nightmares."

"Really?" he beams at her, so infectiously that she has to grin. "That's great!"

He picks her up then, and swings her around until sand is flying and they're both dizzy. When they collapse into laughter on the shore, she finds herself actually enjoying the ache beneath her ribs, and not caring about the grit in her hair. Will it ever stop being novel and surprising, this incredible new permission to feel things?

The laughter dies slowly, and he's ended up on top of her. It's a fact that they both realize at the same time, and when he looks down at her, her heart quiets. He's smiling slightly, the corner of his full lips turned up, and as she watches, he brings a hand to her face and brushes her hair from her forehead.

"Am I ever going to stop being afraid of you?" she whispers.

He doesn't frown, or push her away, and she loves him for it. He just tilts his head and tugs gently on her earlobe. "Why are you afraid?"

"Because," she says, and draws a shuddering breath. The sand is hot beneath her. "Because it feels so wonderful when you touch me, and when you look at me like that I feel like I'm going to disintegrate."

He lowers his face until she can see the different shades of blue in his eyes, shining like sea glass in the sun. He blinks, and thick brown lashes nearly brush his cheek. She can feel the warmth of his breath on her face. It smells like spearmint.

"If it makes you feel any better," he whispers, "I'm fucking terrified of _you_."

When he kisses her, she thinks she might melt right down into the sand.

"Oh, fuck!"

They break apart and Sokka starts laughing again— a particularly large wave has crashed, flooding over the sand and drenching them in cold water. She gives an undignified shriek.

"These robes are brand new!"

"So is this tunic," he tells her. "Wanna see something?"

And he tucks his arms and barrel-rolls down to the water, collecting sand and seaweed, and tumbles into the surf with a splash. She shrieks again, still trying to get to her feet, weighed down by wet sand and her soaked robes.

"What are you _doing?_"

But he can't hear her— he's underwater. She watches for a minute as he corkscrews and dives, finally culminating in a handstand. When he comes up, he's grinning.

"Hold your applause."

"I don't know how you can hold your breath for that long," she says, trying in vain to brush herself off.

"Well, I have to," he says matter-of-factly, sending seawater everywhere with a shake of his head. "Otherwise, how am I supposed to eat you out without drowning—? _Oof!_"

She's launched herself into the water and he catches her, laughing. She wrestles with him for a couple minutes, but it's clear he's got the upper hand. She ends up in his arms, soaked and breathless, her fine robes billowing up around her waist.

"Don't let it go to your head, peasant."

"_Me?_ Never."

"Oh, shut up."

He holds her in the water, and lets the smaller waves buffet them. After a while, he shows her how to stretch out onto her back, and helps her float with a hand each beneath her head and her waist.

She breathes. Overhead, the blue sky stretches on forever.

"I've never liked the water much."

He nods above her, like he expected this. "And how do you feel right now?"

She's quiet for a moment.

"Better."

He nods again. "Do you want to go further out?"

She tightens her grip on him at once. "No. Not yet."

"That's fine," he murmurs. "Gotta start shallow."

The Antarctic is still. It's silent. Blue glacier cliffs loom over the water, their avalanches tumbling down mutely in the distance. The air barely moves. The sky is white and low, with a plume of black smoke curling across it. Under a crag, a toucan-puffin raises his head sleepily and ruffles his feathers. Hundreds of feet below, there's a splash as a seal surfaces.

_BOOOOOOOOM!_

The air splits, and the puffin takes flight with a startled squawk. Five miles south, a Pai-Sho board clatters to the deck of a steamship.

"Mother of La, Azula!"

"Sorry," she grins.

"Yeah, you look really sorry," Sokka grumbles, rubbing the static off his arms. "You almost killed me!"

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. That was fifteen feet above your head."

"It was not," he argues, now bending to pick up his board. "What if you hit me? How could you live with yourself, knowing you snuffed out the greatest love you've ever known?"

She rolls her eyes again, shaking out her wrists. "Okay, first of all, I'm not going to hit you. Second of all, even if I did, you'd probably survive out of sheer stubbornness."

He keeps grumbling to himself, sweeping up his tiles, but she can tell he's secretly pleased by this insult.

"Alright then," he says, dumping the lot back into its bag and crossing his arms. "You want to show me?"

That's _all_ she wants to do. "Do you want to see it?"

"As long as you promise not to zap me."

"How insulting. The correct term would be _absolutely obliterate_."

"Okay, well then don't _absolutely obliterate_ me, please."

"I'll keep you around. You're good for some things."

She catches just a glimpse of his grin before she turns and walks to the bow. Her blood is still buzzing from the last discharge, her chi paths practically sparking, and she breathes. She does an about-face and closes her eyes, working through the breathing pattern Uncle taught her. When she's finished, she feels only perfect calm, as still as the air around them.

"Ready?"

Sokka is now gnawing on some seal jerky. "Born ready."

She knows she's in the zone— she's been there enough times to know what it feels like. Her veins turn to ice, and she lifts her hands. Electricity sparks, then blooms, and tendrils of lightning spiderweb through the air in front of her. She weaves it like a net, forming curves, and feels the charge building. She brings her hands together overhead.

_KA-BOOOOOOOOOOM!_

The lightning bolt arcs through the sky, fracturing the low clouds into glowing shards. As soon as it's free of her body, she jumps into the air and whoops.

"_That's_ what I'm talking about!"

She turns to find Sokka applauding, seal jerky clamped in the corner of his grinning mouth. "You are so, _so_ scary."

"Maybe I am," she mimics, preening. "But you like it, don't you?"

He laughs uproariously, and she privately congratulates herself. "Gods, I should have never encouraged that sense of humor."

Once they've arranged the Pai Sho board and settled down onto the deck, he shakes two pieces of paper out of his pocket. Instantly, she's alert.

"From your father?"

"Yep," he says, smoothing them out over his knee. "Just came. And one from Zuko."

"What do they say?"

"Zuko's is just politics. Details of our 'diplomatic mission in the South Pole' and all that stuff."

"Thrilling." She turns a Pai Sho tile over and over in her hands. "And your father's? Is he angry?"

"My dad?" Sokka grins a little wearily, stretching out. "Nah, he's not mad. He's pretty skeptical, I won't lie, but I told him how much I care about you and how much you've changed. You can count on him to give you a chance."

She reaches across the board and grips his hand. She's still amazed that she's allowed to touch him like this. "I won't let you down."

"Hey, I'm not worried." He winks. "I trust you, fire lily. Until you start sparking like a human lightning rod, anyways."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Pai Sho?"

"Let's do it."

They're just about to start when the first mate pokes his head up from belowdecks.

"Councilman? Princess?"

"What's up?" Sokka calls. She doesn't look up— she's busy plotting her first five moves.

"I just wanted to let you know that we're heading for some weather. Snowstorm on the horizon. You might want to head below, 'cause Li says it's within the next four miles."

"Snowstorm? Okay, thanks Zei."

He bows his head and retreats down the ladder. Sokka is beaming.

"Nice. I haven't seen snow fall in ages."

"Don't worry," she says, and pushes her first tile into place. "I'll keep you warm."

"_Me?_" he says indignantly, and blocks her. "Please. Water Tribe men don't get cold."

"Oh yeah? I bet you'll be shivering within the first five minutes."

He scoffs. "Oh, you're on."

They play, and the ship steams along steadily over miles of deep water. She's so absorbed in the game that when it starts, she doesn't notice. It's only when he's blocked her for the seventh time and she looks up in exasperation that she sees it, and her mouth falls open. The very air is sparkling around them.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Sokka smiles.

She nods silently, watching the way his eyes reflect in tandem with the flurries.

"Not far to go now," he says.

They let the snow fall softly, on and around them. The chill doesn't bother her. Her inner fire is there for her now, burning to keep her warm— whatever wound was in her chest before has healed, changed. She doesn't notice whether Sokka shivers or not, because she's too busy trying to stop him from demolishing her. He meets her move for move, blow for blow, the same way he always has. And so they steam south and play into the endless twilight, as snow— blue, glittering, and silent— falls from the summer sky.

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading! Reviews mean the world to me, so if you liked this story, please let me know what you think :)**


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